


El Infierno

by Senneres



Category: Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales - Fandom, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Canon, Alternate Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Mild Gore, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Not A Crossover but there will be a cameo from another fandom, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:24:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 73,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senneres/pseuds/Senneres
Summary: What would happen if Will Turner, unable to complete his duties as Captain of the Flying Dutchman, turns to Calypso to free the remaining souls from the Devil's Triangle? And what if Capitán Armando Salazar decides revenge is more desirable than moving on into the afterlife? A different take on Dead Men Tell No Tales...Beta'ed by the very generous Writing Therapist (FF.net) and Robbo1981 (AO3). Reviews are welcome.





	1. The Devil's Triangle Is Destroyed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Any publicly recognisable dialogue, characters and settings etc is the property of The Pirates Of The Caribbean Franchise (books, movies and games inclusive), and its respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

She was a corrupted Virgin Mary, a dark mother – not of God, but of death – floating towards the Spanish Capitán and his crew as they stood on the deck of the Monarch, the blood of dead British navymen on their swords. Her presence stirred the forces of The Devil's Triangle, the prison which had bound their ghosts for decades.

Even The Silent Mary, poised and waiting to crush its latest victim under her heavy weight, shifted and settled at her approach.

Molten red swirled the black waters beneath the floating figure, arcing up into the air in liquid ellipses, a hellish frame for the figure who held her arms out like a beloved embracing her lover.

"Who are you?" Capitán Salazar cried in Spanish.

When she spoke, it was not in his native tongue – or even with a human voice – yet he could still understand her.

_I have many forms, many names. What does you want me to be?_

Salazar smiled. Inky black ooze gathered on his lips. "What other name is more fitting, than the Devil?"

Her face in shadow, he could not tell whether she smiled or not, but he could _feel_  her response prickle his insubstantial form. And she was delighted. Delighted at his impudence, as though he were a naughty but adorable puppy.

 _De Devil wishes he was me._ She laughed. _To him dat sail de seas, I am Calypso._

"You are a liar." He turned to his crew. "Do not be deceived. It is the Devil. Satan has come to claim us."

He turned back to her, his face stretched wide in a manic grin, with the kind of fearlessness the truly insane have. "And the Devil is a woman –"

She struck the air and at once the sea rose up like a black wall behind her.

The Silent Mary creaked demurely, and to Salazar's amazement, distanced herself still further from the Capitán and The Monarch.

_You not be speaking what is proper to me._

The wave crested higher, curling over them like a leaning palm tree. Her sudden anger cloyed his brain with the pungency of a hot beach at low tide.

_That be just a taste of my powers._

Disturbed and a little frightened at The Silent Mary's retreat, Salazar nevertheless stepped closer. What could this supernatural devil really do to them, to make their plight worse?

"How would you have us speak, then,  _Calypso_?" He called out in Spanish. "Should we fear you? Have you come to torment us more," he mocked bitterly, "Because our suffering hasn't been enough?"

She laughed sharply, the red liquid fires of the Devil's Triangle cutting up the swirling waters as she did, and his men shifted uneasily.

 _You stand in de blood of de innocent, on a ship not your own._   _What makes you tink I care about your suffering?_

"And yet, you are here! Do you come to release us to do your bidding?" Salazar glared resentfully. "Or to take us to a fresh level of hell?"

Twin geysers of molten fire shot up through the roiling waters, lighting her face with its red glow.

_I come to right de balance. You died, but your souls stayed trapped. And now dere are consequences, and dey must be fixed._

She pointedly looked over her shoulder, her eyes dark and a smile curling her lip.

_Dere is a ship, dat takes de souls of de dead to de next place._

The Capitán could just make out the bow of a ship, drifting past the entry to their stone-enshrouded prison.

 _If you ready to pass over,_  she pointed to the ship,  _him know de way._

Calypso surveyed them all with wicked black eyes, hair shifting about her face like seaweed.

_Or you can become nothing. You choose. I am come to destroy what should never 'ave been allowed to exist._

Behind him, Salazar's men murmured amongst themselves.

"Freedom." They were whispering to one another. "She says we can go!"

Lieutenant Lesaro stepped to his side. "Capitán. This is what we always wished for. Release from this hell!"

Enraged, Salazar turned to his crew. "You cannot trust this demon. She is lying to you!"

His men were silent.

"We deserve revenge!" Salazar raised his voice. "We deserve to be freed to have that revenge! To revenge ourselves on the one who trapped us here!"

"But, Capitán," Lesaro said quietly. "We can be free now." He dared to touch his Capitán's stiff shoulder. "Forget your vendetta, Capitán. We have been ghosts long enough. Let us go together to the ship."

Salazar stared at his men.

"You would betray me?" He asked softly. His men shuffled uncomfortably. "You would commit treason against your own Capitán?"

Lesaro squared his shoulders. "We have served you many years. We did all that you demanded of us, and served you longer than any Capitán has a right to ask. But no longer."

"You do not even know where she is taking you! But you trust her? 

Lesaro stepped back from Salazar as the crew rallied around behind the Lieutenant. "Sí. There can be no worse a place than this. So we will go."

"Then go! Go with the Devil!" Salazar snarled, and his men shrank back from his rage – all except for Lesaro, who only looked sadly back at his Capitán. "Go, and enjoy your place at the table in hell!"

 _Capitán Armando Salazar._ Calypso called.  _If you stay, you will be destroyed._

Salazar only turned abruptly and stalked below decks without a backward glance. He was not going to watch like a fool while his men deserted him.

It was dark below, in the bowels of The Monarch, and stank of mildew and human excrement. He stood there, his grip tight on his sword, his hair floating around his face.

He heard a gasp, and a small clatter in the shadows. He looked – and there, huddled in cages before him, were two sailors – an old man in rags and a young man with torn sleeves. Somehow, he and his men had missed these two.

Scowling, he stalked towards them. "If I must die, it will not be in dishonour, with thieves and traitors."

Plunging his sword swiftly into the old man, he withdrew it and turned to the other.

Outside the Monarch, Calypso watched as the last of Salazar's crew disappeared aboard the Flying Dutchman. Turning back, she regarded the remains of the blood-soaked warship for a moment, as though able to look through its bloodstained hull.

 _Ah… de pirate King's son,_ she gazed at him thoughtfully.  _How fittin'._

Her eyes glowed with a dark humour, and she began to laugh.

 _De end will come,_  she mused,  _but not in de way dey expect._

She closed her eyes and stretched out her arms. The lava shot up around her in fierce geysers, kissing her outstretched fingers. She seemed to draw it into herself, her entire body glowing red, her very hair flaming above her.

And then she exploded.

The Monarch tipped under their feet, and the boy fell, narrowly missing being impaled.

Salazar's sword suddenly clattered to the wooden floor.

He tried to pick it up, but his fingers brushed thin air. In horror, he gazed at his hands as they started to become translucent. He could see right through them to the paper-strewn floor. He was fading. He was becoming nothing!

Salazar's eyes lighted back on the floor where his sword lay. He realised his vision was fading. He could no longer focus. He was on his knees, watching helplessly as he faded from existence.

And that was when he saw it.

The picture on the yellowed and creased Wanted poster. The hair. The moustache. The quirky expression. A familiar face, smiling slyly up at him.

"Sparrow…" He cursed. " _Sparrow_!"

That face that mocked him in his dreams. Smirked at him in his death. And was now here to see him as he faded for the last time into oblivion.

_Jack the Sparrow._

He cursed him from his soul.

The boy looked up at him in confused terror. "Please, please, don't kill me!"

Salazar looked at the boy, his eyes glowing like a fire, and suddenly he knew what he had to do.

As the Devil's Triangle crumbled and sank into the sea around the Monarch, Salazar flew into the boy's body.

 


	2. Miss Carina Smyth Arrives

Miss Carina Smyth waited at the docks for a long time before someone came.

She kept her small portmanteau at her feet, a demure bonnet shielding her face from the hot afternoon sun, and though sweat trickled down her back, she still held onto the letter of introduction from the orphanage to her hosts.

Three quarters of an hour passed, and still no one came for her.

She was getting well and truly tired of the leers the sailors threw her way as they unloaded their ship's cargo, and beginning to consider some very salty retorts to some of their lewder comments, when finally a carriage pulled into the dockyard.

A heavyset man alighted from the carriage, followed by another man in the uniform of a British officer. She breathed a sigh of relief.

 _Finally._ She bent and grasped her portmanteau in her hand, and waited as they made their way towards her.

"Miss Smyth?" The heavyset man addressed her as soon as he was close enough.

She nodded. "And you must be Mr. Onslow?"

"Yes, indeed, that I am." He stared at her a moment, his mouth agape in the unconscious manner of someone who is desperately trying to think of what to say next.

She turned to the bored looking man next to him. "And you must be - ?"

"This here is Officer Fields. A friend of my son's."

Officer Fields greeted her rather perfunctorily, before proceeding to turn and view the activity of the ships.

Familiar with snubs, Carina turned back to Mr. Onslow, who looked even more uncomfortable.

"We must apologise, my dear, for being so tardy; but the cursed shame of it is that my wife has taken very ill this morning."

"I am very sorry to hear that!"

He began to turn an interesting shade of pink. "Yes, well, the crux of the matter is, my dear, that I'm afraid – it will be quite impossible for you to stay with us!"

Carina's stomach dropped.

Mr. Onslow turned very red in the face, and Carina wondered if he was being entirely honest with her.

In the heat she found herself speaking rather abruptly. "Perhaps, Mr. Onslow, you could tell me _where_ , then, I may stay during my visit here to St Martin? After so many months at sea, I can hardly turn around and voyage at a moment's notice back to London."

He turned redder still, and in the ensuing silence gaped again like a fish out of water. Carina began to suspect that Mrs. Onslow was behind this sudden change of heart, hence her husband was here at her bidding to send Carina away.

"Yes, but, she – Mrs. Onslow is – quite, quite … sick. Risk of – of infection. T-terrible…"

He stammered to a halt; finally, with a sigh, Carina took pity on him.

"You and your wife... are most kind to consider my health, in the midst of her illness. It's for the best that your wife be allowed to recuperate without having to worry about guests, isn't it?"

Mr. Onslow looked guilty.

Carina pretended not to notice, and went on.

"I do trust she is recovered soon. However, as I'm sure you realise, it is going to be difficult for me to arrange matters on my own, especially as a stranger –" she gritted her teeth as she added in the best simperingly innocent tone she could manage, "– and an unmarried woman – to the island."

"Absolutely. Of course. Indeed. Well."

He gaped again, and then in an apparent battle of wills, appeared to come to a decision.

"Oh, hang it all! Damned cursed business! Oh, pardon me, Miss Smyth, but this is…" he fumbled in his pockets, before producing some pound notes. "Here," he said gruffly, shoving the money at her. "If you go to the Spanish Bird on Burleigh Street, it's a respectable boarding house, and tell Mrs. Besançon that I sent you because my wife is ill. She – she knows everything. She's a good woman. French, but still a good woman. She'll look after you. Any troubles, write to me and I'll sort it."

Carina stared at the largest sum of money she had ever held in her life. She was overwhelmed. This was – even better than she imagined! She would have freedom to come and go as she pleased, without having to observe any of the social niceties or obligations towards her hosts… it was –

"Perfect!" She beamed up into Mr. Onslow's face, startling him. "You are too generous, sir!"

In delight she threw her arms around the man's beefy neck before recollecting herself and pulling back to apologise, but the man would have none of it.

"Oh no, my dear, no need! Glad to be of service!" He beamed back at her, flustered but highly gratified. "No good having a nice lass like you out on the street! Least I could do!"

 


	3. The Pirate King Sails For The Monarch

Elizabeth, Pirate King and currently the most wanted criminal on the seas, stood at the helm of her ship and licked the salt from her lips.

Though she'd spent the entire previous day and night sailing with grim determination and ceaseless worrying, there was no denying the exhilaration that always came to her when the deck of The Wicked Wench II was under her feet. There was no feeling like it in the world, being in command of your own ship, the wind behind you, the lurch of the waves, the horizon curving away before you like the inside of an enormous silver-blue bell. If the wind held its current direction and strength, she'd been assured by her crew, they would catch up to her son on The Monarch before a week was past.

She squeezed the Compass tightly in one hand, as she held a telescope in the other.

The Compass had never left her hand for an instant, not since the moment she'd thrown together the essentials and left home. The witch who'd come expressly to see her, trekking up the hill to her humble cottage, had warned her of her son's coming peril – and it was a witch who had never been wrong in these matters before.

Raising her telescope to one eye, she searched for their quarry. She was sure if she squinted she might even be able to see The Monarch on the horizon. A mere black speck on the horizon was the only thing that could be seen at present. She hoped it was The Monarch. She hoped Henry was on board.

She glanced down at the worn black box in her hand, and flipped it open. The Compass had not even moved, still pointing resolutely ahead. To her son. Elizabeth flipped it shut again, and ran a thumb over its smooth edges.

It wouldn't be long.

Though the witch was vague on the exact nature of the peril, one thing she said constantly repeated in Elizabeth's mind: _the father's failure will be the son's doom._

 

* * *

 

 As the sun climbed in the sky, Elizabeth retreated to her cabin for some much needed rest. The Monarch was still some several hours away. They would not reach it by noon, but with luck they should have finally caught up by sundown. In the meantime, the wind held, and there was nothing to do for Elizabeth except rest as she waited.

As she lay in her bed, however, her mind refused to settle.

She'd been having terrible dreams the last few nights, even before the witch's visit.

Dreams of Jack, and Henry… and a pale ghostly face with amber eyes and cracked rivulets of black around a hideous mouth that spat one word in a thick Spanish accent:  _Sparrow._

So she did not sleep. Instead, she found herself remembering the past.

She remembered Henry's chubby cheeks when he was a boy, laughing and lifting his tiny hands up to her face. They would walk down to the market every Saturday, his little legs unsteady on the steep path down from their house.

She remembered the people, staring at her like she was some sort of mythical creature.

She remembered the looks on their faces.

"So sad, that young un growin' up without his pa," she used to hear the fishwives whispering behind her back as she primly drew Henry along by the hand through the market.

"So tragic, to be waiting for her husband so long," the young girls would sigh later to their quadrille partners, as they spun like marionettes around their ballrooms.

And her personal favourite: "Must be lonely, up there, with no one to comfort her…"

And the old biddies would chuckle knowingly to one another, as she delicately clasped the vicar's hand in empty greeting before sailing smoothly past their smug smiles.

Lonely. They'd had no idea.

Oh, she'd made a promise to Will on their first night – their only night – together as husband and wife. After she and Will had finally, officially been married – mid-battle, at sea, by Captain Barbossa himself – she'd never been happier. When he left her at dawn for the Flying Dutchman, she'd promised to leave behind the ways of piracy, to never put herself in danger and to live quietly. Some months later, she'd finally managed to get word to him that she was with child.

But it was another 8 months before Will found a way to get a letter back to her, begging her not to forget her promise to him. _And please, take care of our child, Elizabeth. I will see them on their tenth birthday._

And that had been when it had finally sunk in.

Tenth birthday.

Ten years.

Ten more years before she'd see Will again.

Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and shifted in her bed, uncomfortably remembering the empty despair that had overwhelmed her that day, pressing down relentlessly until she had sunk to her knees, Will's letter in hand.

She tried to keep herself busy in the days after that letter, but she knew, even then, she was already avoiding the inevitable.

And then, three years after her marriage, Jack had visited her.

It'd surprised her.

She hadn't really expected to see Jack ever again, if she was being honest with herself.

The last time she'd seen him had been in the month following Will's departure: Jack had decided, for his own obscure reasons, to stay and help Elizabeth settle into her neat little cottage by the sea, and he had shown himself surprisingly useful.

It was Jack who'd made sure she wasn't shortchanged by the carpenter. Jack who'd helped her move her furniture in. He'd even got her several excellent deals with the local tradesmen, saving her a small fortune in gold. And - admittedly - she'd enjoyed his company.

There had been more than one night when they'd reminisced together, over some high quality rum.

While Jack was around, Elizabeth had never had time to miss Will. Or examine her choice to leave the pirate's life behind. Or her own reasons for being reluctant to let Jack go, when it was time for him to set sail.

Pessimistic as it was, she'd certainly never expected him to darken her doorstep again.

But then, if there was anything Jack was good at, it was doing the one thing no one expected: and there was nothing more unexpected for Elizabeth than to open the door and find him standing there again, Captain Jack Sparrow himself, handsome as ever and twice as irritating.

"You," she'd said in shock.

"Me," he'd grinned.

That very moment he'd turned up, after so long away, it'd sent her plummeting again.

Just like she had the very first day she met him.

But over a different cliff this time, to drown - not in the sea - but in a deluge of memories, a _torrent_ of feelings.

All time fell away until she was just _that_ girl again, dripping and shivering on the pier, looking up at him as he smirked down at her with those taunting, wicked eyes...

She'd been trying so hard to push it all down in her eagerness to prove herself the good little wife – but he'd just effortlessly brought it all back again. With just a look.

Elizabeth remembered the girl she'd been when she'd met him, she remembered the woman she'd become after.

Jack's grin had turned sly then; a devastating mix of playfulness and heat and... that irritatingly _knowing_ look had entered his eyes...

She'd known in that moment she'd never be just 'Mrs. Turner' to Jack.

Never.

She was something wild, violent, vicious; she was a traitor, a fighter, _a Pirate King_. She'd been trying to stuff herself into a neat tiny chest, just like the ornately carved chest Will locked his heart away in, and this epiphany came crashing down on her in the very moment she saw Captain Jack Sparrow again.

But of course, she'd not let on at the time.

"You’ll have to be quiet, I’ve just put Henry down to sleep. What do you want?"

“What, can’t a fellow drop in on an old friend?” he’d frowned. “Sides, it’s awful cold out here...”

“Oh, bloody come in then,” she'd said carelessly to him, turning and walking to the kitchen, feeling him follow her.

Secretly it’d made her smile, hearing him behind her, the very rhythm of his step oh-so-familiar.

She'd placed the lantern on the kitchen table.

He lingered, swaying a little, as though uncertain if he should come closer.

"Came to tell you."

For an awful moment, Elizabeth had frozen, fearing the worst.

"It's Will, isn't it?"

"I… "

"Tell me, Jack." She strode purposefully up to him, her face barely an inch from his. "Just bloody tell me!"

He looked at her, his eyes dark. And then he'd kissed her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES:   
> A note on Elizabeth's ship: she has called it 'the Wicked Wench II', after the original name of Jack's Black Pearl – which is currently still in a bottle under Blackbeard's curse (at the time of Dead Men Tell No Tales).
> 
> I'd also like to credit Hans Christian Anderson for the description of the sky at the beginning of the chapter (I'd like to think that if Elizabeth had ever read The Little Mermaid, she would have liked it very much).


	4. Captain Jack Sparrow Has A Few...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Elizabeth remembered Jack's first visit to her following her marriage some seventeen years previously.
> 
> Jack himself, however, is at present on the island of St Martin, getting completely and utterly drunk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recognisable lines from the PotC movies.

"Why is the bloody rum – always _gone_ ?"

Clumsily, Captain Jack Sparrow tipped the dirty glass upside down and eyed it suspiciously.

Fumbling inelegantly with the rum bottle at his elbow, he held it up dramatically to the dim light of the tavern.

"Barely a mouthful left!" he cried, offended, and eyed the empty room as though searching for the felon responsible.

But, apart from the scowling barkeep, he was all alone.

 _Typical,_ he thought. _Just typical._

He dribbled the last few drops from the bottle into his mouth and dropped it on the table, sighing dramatically.

"She didn't want me. All those wonderful times... and then... told me to go.” He shook his head. “Took me compass, an' told me to go! Ungrateful… beautiful... pirate!" he leaned forward as he tried to hold the rebellious glass steady on the table. "An' the rest of m’crew aren't much better! Should be… _thankin'_ me! After all, s'not ev'ryday… you can crew for the great… Cap'n… Jack… Shparrow!"

He slurred his words almost to the point of incoherency as he struggled to stay in his seat.

Which was probably fortunate, for had any of the usual customers been present, and overheard him announce his name, the drunk might've found himself in a spot of bother. But the reputable establishment which he was currently patronising was deserted; and the barkeeper, a rather greasy man by the name of Mr Grimes, had long ago stopped paying any attention to the strangely dressed drunkard.

Mr Grimes had been spending the last half hour listening instead for the nightly curfew to be called in the town square. Sinister things had been happening with greater frequency around St Martin's streets at night, and if he hadn't seen just what happened to people who wandered the island at night he probably wouldn't have believed it. But he had, so he did, and he was eager for curfew so he could put the slurring drunk out and safely bolt the doors.

All of which the drunkard seemed completely oblivious to.

"You gotta be loyal. I'm still… still someone!" Jack scolded his glass. "I may not be the Pirate King… I may not… have my compass… but I'm… _I_ was made… a King… just recen-recently! Only twenty – thirty – years ago!"

He nodded at his words. "'Cept now… I gotta…I gotta rest. I gotta…I've… I'm sick of it. Of _all of it_."

And he was.

He'd tried. Oh, he'd tried.

Since Elizabeth had forced him to leave, he'd tried to get back into the game.

Tried to find some new scheme, some new treasure, and some new brilliant idea. But without the Black Pearl, it seemed pointless.

And he'd tried countless times to restore the Black Pearl.

Tried to outwit that one-legged bilge rat Barbossa to get the Sword of Triton off of him, and set his Black Pearl free. Tried to bribe, buy, bargain – but Barbossa refused any price except the one he named. And it was too high a price for Jack.

Because the price he demanded was servitude.

Barbossa wanted Jack to come work for _him_. He wanted Jack to scrub the decks on his hands and knees while he, Barbossa, sailed the Black Pearl in style… and Jack just couldn't. He couldn't do it anymore. The games, the matches of wit and will, the schemes, the plans. Maybe there was a time he would've agreed to Barbossa's demands, and then promptly ignored him, or outplayed him – or even better, stabbed him in the back with great pleasure. But, maybe it was his age – maybe it was the years of fighting, and backstabbery, and constant looking over his shoulder, but he'd had enough. He'd had _enough._

"No more games." He promised himself.

With a grunt of effort, he stood and walked unsteadily to the bar. Grimes scowled even more deeply, which Jack met with his most innocent expression. Which, being already three sheets to the wind, translated to a look of someone suffering from dysentery.

"More rum, please, my good sir."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> When Jack talks about being King, he is referring to events in the twelfth book of the Pirates of the Caribbean series, 'Jack Sparrow: Bold New Horizons'. 
> 
> According to the book, while he was still a teenager he was presented with the Trident of Poseidon and asked to rule over the Merfolk, out of gratitude for his part in freeing them from oppression. His first and only action as King was to pass the Trident and consequently the rule to one of the Merfolk. I have used the events in that book to develop some of my headcanons for this fic : )


	5. Lieutenant Scarfield Gets The Journal

Lieutenant Scarfield held the journal. A well-worn leather-bound book, with a roughly hewn ruby held in its cover above the embossed markings of a five pointed constellation. The words in a gentle arc above the ruby,  _Verum Omnia Simul Astra_.

"All the stars speak truly," he murmured to himself, tracing the words with a calloused finger.

He looked out the open window into the night, contemplating with an increasing sense of excitement the importance of what he held in his hand.

Of what it was promising.

When he'd first seen it in the pages of the journal, he'd nearly dismissed it. But it had appeared so many times, often underlined, that there was no mistaking the author's personal belief in  _Il Tridente di Poseidone_.

Tomorrow, he'd begin by questioning the woman who'd claimed it was hers. He would wring out every last secret the journal contained from her, until he understood every single page, every diagram, every word.

For the first time in years, he thought of his father.

"There are things in this world that even the Devil doesn't understand," his father was fond of saying. "Powerful things, terrible things. Don't ever think you know everything, child."

Well, this journal was one thing Scarfield absolutely intended to know everything about.

His Italian was rusty – he had picked up some in his time on the seas – but most of the writings in the journal were in an Italian much older than he was used to. Some phrases he'd recognised, like the Trident of Poseidon, but others he could only guess at the meaning of. He could, however, read enough to recognise just  _whose_  journal he held – and what he'd been writing about. He looked down again at the aged cover, and breathed out almost in reverence. 

The journal of Galileo Galilei.

The fates, Lieutenant Scarfield was certain, had conspired to grant him this life-altering opportunity.

That very morning, he had been seated at his desk, trying to think how to word his report on the latest of a series of grisly murders on the island, when he had been interrupted by shouting outside. Looking up as his doors had burst open, he saw a struggling woman being dragged in by two of his men.

The woman was red-faced but imperious. "You have no right! I have committed no crimes!"

"Sir!" cried one of the men, straining to be heard over the woman's protestations.

Scarfield recognised him as one of his more reliable, if ham-fisted, men.

"Hobbs? What is the meaning of all this?"

Hobbs lifted a leather book up and pushed it onto Scarfield's desk.

"Here, sir. We believe this book to be stolen, though she won't say who she took it from."

Scarfield glanced at the worn book lying unevenly on his desk. Picking it up, he turned it over. The ruby glowed in the dim light of the room. Scarfield stared hard at it.

"It's not stolen! It's mine!" The woman cried, reaching out for it in vain, only to be jerked back by the two soldiers.

"She's a thief, sir."

Ignoring them, Scarfield flipped the pages of the journal open. He studied the diagrams, tightly wedged in amongst the scrawled handwritten Italian. It was not the journal of some insipid girl. He closed the journal, tracing the red jewel in its cover with some perplexity. He'd had an instinct, even in that moment, that he would need to study it more thoroughly – but later, when he did not have an audience gawking at him.

"Well, it's hardly any reason to bring her in here." He waved dismissively at them, pretending to resume interest in a letter from the hospital on his desk. "Lock her up with the others."

"I apologise for the intrusion, sir." The other soldier, West, started, "But the women's cells are all full. Should we put her with the men, sir?"

Reluctantly, Scarfield looked properly at her for the first time. His practiced eye observed in her an obvious sort of prettiness, along with some unexpected marks of intelligence, in spite of her being a girl. Poor, to be sure, judging by the simple dress free of embellishments, but not a whore. He met her eyes, and detected no signs of drunkenness either. Completely sober.

Pity, he thought to himself. A drunk could be put in the stocks, with no need to arrange for a cell.

No one placed in the stocks past sunset survived long enough to require warranting anything more than a death certificate, a fact that Scarfield found himself utilising more and more. Especially when he wasn't in the mood for paperwork.

"Sir, I believe there's been an error –" the woman began to address him.

"Silence!" He snapped.

Quelled, the woman closed her mouth.

He reached for a fresh parchment and dipped his quill.

"Name?"

The woman stood defiantly mute.

"Said her name was Carina, sir." West stated.

"And last name?"

He looked up expectedly, but the defiant gleam hardened in the woman's eye.

He nodded to his men, who to his satisfaction did not hesitate. West secured her arms even more tightly before Hobbs struck the woman hard on the cheek.

"Name?" Scarfield repeated.

The woman looked with wide eyes at the soldier who'd struck her, and then at Scarfield.

Sighing, Scarfield nodded again to his men. Seeing Hobbs raise a hand again she spoke quickly.

"Smyth. My name is Carina Smyth... Smyth with a 'y'."

Scarfield wrote her name on the parchment.

"And what are the charges?"

"Trespass, theft, attempted robbery, attack on a civilian and disturbing the peace, sir."

"Attempted robbery…?" Lieutenant Scarfield raised an eyebrow as he wrote the list of the woman's crimes.

Encouraged, Hobbs continued. "Tried to steal Mr Swift's timepiece, sir."

The woman blushed again. "I – I was just trying to purchase it, I was willing to pay double –"

"I did not ask you a question, therefore I did not give you permission to  _speak_." Lieutenant Scarfield stood. "A woman is  _out of place_  in an Observatory. Your presence at Mr. Swift's alone is cause for investigation. All prostitutes," He savoured the flare of indignation on her face, "require a permit, and are only allowed to conduct their business on registered premises. If any of these charges prove true, you will face severe punishment. Do you understand?"

"I am not –"

" _Do you understand_?"

Hobbs made a small movement with his hand, and the woman flinched and quietened, subjection creeping – finally – into her face.

Scarfield's smile turned cruel. "So the women's cells are full, you say?"

 


	6. What Will Paid To Save Henry

"What do you bloody mean, _he wasn't there_?"

Will knew Elizabeth had always had a temper, but nothing prepared him for this: the sight of his beautiful wife swinging onto the deck of the Flying Dutchman to start screaming at him – in front of his men – after he confessed what he knew of their son Henry.

"Uh, Elizabeth, perhaps we could talk privately in my –"

She hurled a dagger at his head, which he only narrowly missed catching in his skull by throwing himself to the deck. It sank with a heavy thud into the mast behind him.

The Flying Dutchman's crew began to beat a wise retreat out of the path of the enraged woman.

"Elizabeth!" Will's eyes were round with shock.

"You tell me where he is, Will, or so help me God," She strode towards him with implacable fury, sword out of its scabbard.

"He was not among the dead!" Will cried, his hands up beseechingly.

She paused, sword raised. "Then where is he?"

Will knew she was not going to like his answer, but there was no other answer to give.

"He wasn't there."

"ARGH!" She swung wildly at him. He ducked and rolled to the side.

"Elizabeth, he is still alive!"

She thrust the sword towards his chest in a fierce lunge.

"Elizabeth, you have my word!" He panted as he dodged her. "Henry is alive! Calypso promised."

She stopped, her eyes on his face.

"Calypso?"

"Yes, Calypso." He talked as fast as he could. "She came to me. Said I needed her help. That she could help me free some dead souls that were trapped under a curse, and that it would save Henry as well if I did."

Elizabeth's sword lowered.

"So I agreed. I followed her to the place, and she – she went in. The Dutchman couldn't. There was some magical force around it that stopped us from going in ourselves. The souls came out, and then she destroyed it."

"Then." Elizabeth said coldly. "Where. Is. Henry?"

"Calypso promised the danger was past. She said she'd watch over him to make sure he was rescued and taken to the nearest island – to St. Martin. Only I could not stay to see – she commanded me to take the souls of the dead away."

For a long moment, Elizabeth regarded Will in silence. Then she snapped open the Compass, watched it spin uncertainly several times with a frown, before looking back up at her husband.

"What was this cursed place?"

"The Devil's Triangle."

"And who were the souls that came out?"

Will spread his hands out. "Just… Spanish navy, British navy, some pirates that had been trapped there…"

"Spanish..."

Elizabeth remembered the man in her dreams. The way he spoke. The accent. _Sparrow._

"And none of them knew Henry?"

Will nodded. "Some said they knew him, and said he was alive." He reached out a hand to stroke her face. "I promise, Elizabeth. He was not among the dead. He is safe. Calypso will keep her word."

She stepped back before he could touch her, squeezing the Compass in her fist.

"What was the price you paid?"

"What?"

"You said she came to help you. Calypso never gives her help without a price." She took a deep breath. "So what was the price you paid?"

Will faltered. "Elizabeth…"

"Tell me what it was. What did she ask for?"

Will's mouth opened, but he could not speak.

And that was when Elizabeth knew.

"I'm so sorry." Will said softly.

Elizabeth turned from him.

"Please, it was our son."

She didn't want to look at him, preparing instead to return to The Wicked Wench II.

"Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same, if it were you." Will called out after her.

She stopped.

"You have one choice Will Turner." She said over her shoulder. "You can come with me, and fix your – _error of judgement_. Or you can stay – and never see me again after this day."

She didn't stop to wait for his decision.

On the deck of The Wicked Wench II, she was the Captain of the ship and Pirate King once more.

"Turnabout!" She shouted. "We make for St Martin."

She took her place at the helm of the ship. She didn't even acknowledge when he came to stand by her, pistol at his hip, and securing a small leather bag around his neck.

"This will cost me," Will said quietly to her.

"It already has," she laughed bitterly in response. "Even more than you know."

 


	7. Mr. Onslow Visits Scarfield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Onslow gives Scarfield a piece of his mind

Lieutenant Scarfield had just finished writing a message for the Mayor, and sent a boy off to deliver it, when he had his second violent interruption in as many days.

“What the _devil_ is the meaning of this?” Mr. Onslow, in all his red-faced glory, stood in Scarfield’s study, glaring around as though he was indeed expecting to see the devil himself.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Scarfield began smoothly, but Mr Onslow would have none of it.

“Where is she?”

“Who, sir?”

Mr Onslow went purple.

“Hobbs,” Scarfield called. “Do fetch some water for the gentleman here.”

“I don’t want your filthy water!” Mr Onslow snapped as Hobbs stood in the doorway. “I wish to know why you have cast the young lady Carina Smyth in prison!”

If Scarfield was worried, he did not show it. Raising his eyebrows in apparent surprise, he looked to Hobbs.

“Do we have a young lady by that name in the cells, Hobbs?”

Hobbs hesitated. “Ah… I do not recall precisely, Lieutenant...” he hedged.

Apparently this was the correct response, for Scarfield smiled a little and shuffled through the papers on his desk.

“Let me see,” Scarfield made a show of looking through the papers. “No… no… Oh… Oh _dear_ …”

He held up the report he had made, as though reading it for the first time.

“What have we here…” He clicked his tongue.

“What? What is it?” Mr Onslow asked, craning to see what was written.

“It says here…” Scarfield pretended to read the report slowly as he stood and walked around the edge of the desk. “That there was a Miss Smyth arrested for… trespassing, disturbing the peace, and stealing….”

“Impossible!” Mr Onslow sputtered. “She’s a genteel girl! A sweet, good girl! Are you sure you have the right person?”

“Carina Smyth, didn’t you say?”

Mr Onslow nodded vigorously.

“Well, I’m afraid, Mr Onslow, that this dear sweet girl is also being held on suspicion of prostitution.”

Mr Onslow went white.

Then he went pink.

Then he began to tremble like a jellyfish; and both Scarfield and Hobbs watched in fascination as Mr. Onslow, with a supreme effort of willpower, drew himself up as much as his round stature would allow and looked them in the eye. When next he spoke, it was with a deadly distinction. “Do you mean to stand there and tell me, Lieutenant, that you are accusing this girl, who is under my protection, of being a _whore_?”

Hobbs gulped and looked at his superior.

Scarfield remained completely still, but Hobbs could tell he was trying to think of what to say next – and for the first time, failing.

“Because if you dare state such a thing again in my presence,” Mr Onslow continued in the same impressively cold voice, “I will move all the powers that be on this island to have you stripped of your rank, your uniform, and whatever respect previously attached to your name.”

“I apologise, sir,” Scarfield said. “But she has been charged. The law is the law. Perhaps there _has_ been an error, but once she is charged I’m afraid… our hands are tied. She must now face her charges on trial.”

“Fiddle!” Mr Onslow shouted.

Scarfield rolled his lips in an admirable effort to stop himself from laughing.

"If you wish to have her charges dropped, you could always apply to the Mayor," Scarfield suggested. "Perhaps he could influence the magistrates to be lenient to the girl."

"I might just do that!" Mr. Onslow turned and marched to the door.

"Of course, I can't guarantee the Mayor will be sympathetic to your cause."

Mr Onslow stopped.

 _Not once I've spoken with him_ , Scarfield thought privately; before adding casually, "Perhaps you should ascertain the truth with the girl first?"

Mr Onslow turned and looked at Scarfield with unrepressed loathing.

Scarfield went on blithely, "And, I daresay, it might be better to speak with the young lady before you bother the Mayor with such a... distasteful subject? You might be surprised at what she might confess to a friendly face..."

"You!" Mr Onslow spun with surprising speed towards the unsuspecting Hobbs. "Take me to her cell. I will speak with Miss Smyth directly."

Hobbs stared at Mr. Onslow, and then at Scarfield, who nodded back. "By all means. Take Mr. Onslow to the prisoner."

Mr Onslow gave Scarfield an icy glare. “I _will_ ascertain the young lady’s state. If she has been injured in any way, by you or your men, there will be hell to pay.”

Scarfield waited a few moments, listening to the portly man huff and mutter as Hobbs led him down the stairs. He watched through his window as they made their way across the yard, towards the prison cells.

He then slid on his coat.

"West," he called.

Officer West appeared. "Sir?"

"Follow Hobbs and that portly gent over to the cells."

"Sir...?"

"They are going to see that woman you arrested."

“The one... from the observatory?”

“The very same. Listen to every word said between them, and be prepared to make a report to me later. And make sure that gentleman does _not_ leave until I have returned. Let him talk to her for as long as he wishes. Offer him sympathy, drinks, a game of cards, I don’t care what you do but make sure he is detained.”

“Yes sir.”

Lieutenant Scarfield left to find the Mayor.

 


	8. Scarfield's Machinations Against Carina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scarfield talks with Mayor Dix  
> (Updated)

"Mayor Dix!"

"Ah, Lieutenant Scarfield," the Mayor greeted the man cordially.

"My lady," Scarfield bowed at the Mayor's wife, who only nodded back.

"Oh, Lieutenant," the Mayor beamed at Scarfield's deference, "You know you can address my wife as Mrs Dix."

Scarfield pretended humility. "It would be out of my sphere, Mayor, to decide the proper title of so beautiful a lady."

The Mayor beamed even more at that, and linked his arm around his wife's.

"Save the charm for another beautiful woman, Lieutenant," he chuckled. "The good Lord knows there's many a young miss who'd be setting their caps at a fine man like yourself."

Frances managed to squeeze her disgust into a socially acceptable curl of her lip.

"Lieutenant," she addressed him coolly. "I heard there was a poor young man admitted to the hospital last night?"

Scarfield's forehead creased. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh yes," said the Mayor. "From The Monarch?"

Scarfield's face cleared and he nodded. "Ah yes. The Monarch was apparently lost at sea, though we are rather thin on how. The Carpathia picked up only one survivor amidst the wreckage. They alerted me once they docked here, quite late last night, however I was – occupied with other business at the time. I confess I have not even had time to question the man myself."

"But is it true," Frances persisted. "Was he really the only survivor?"

Scarfield was surprised at Frances' sudden interest.

Usually, the Mayor's wife barely spoke to him; and her manner was habitually icy, even with all his best efforts to flirt with her.

In the past, he'd found the wives of other men – especially wives of men who also happened to be superior officers – useful avenues to getting what he wanted: a smile here, a significant compliment there, a salacious look when their husband's attention was elsewhere, promising more than he would ever actually give, and Scarfield's progression up the ranks had been almost effortless. Lovelorn wives, whispering words in their husbands' ears, commending the handsome John Scarfield, in the hopes that Scarfield would show them proper gratitude in return... it was a game he was _most_ adept at. 

Except when it came to Mrs Dix.

"Frances," her husband interrupted with alarm, reading Scarfield's surprise as an expression of judgement, "I really don't think this is the time for another one of your charitable ventures. Really, you spill enough money to St Martin's poor as it is, one would think you were punishing yourself with good deeds."

"Husband –"

"Do not take an interest in it," he commanded, before adding more softly, "Really, my dear, there is not a single woman more estimable than yourself when it comes to charity, but this is quite beyond your usual sphere. Remain satisfied that the good Lieutenant will resolve it in his own time."

"Oh no," Scarfield smiled, creasing his pockmarked cheeks. "You must allow the ladies to have a little gossip, Mayor; there is so little to entertain them otherwise, here on St Martin."

Mayor Dix dithered, unused to being directly contradicted when it came to his wife, but Scarfield was nothing if not diplomatic.

"Mayor, your sense of propriety is commendable," he smiled genially, "But I must inform you, in a loss as heavy as that of the Monarch, you can be sure it will be investigated by one of the Lord Commissioners. You and your wife could be expected to host a representative of the Lord High Admiral of England himself!"

Mayor Dix blinked in surprise. "You really think so?"

"Of course, Mayor!" Scarfield nodded. "And there wouldn't be a man better advised, or better placed to receive them, than yourself!"

Frances bit back her derision at the Lieutenant's obvious flattery. It was absurd to her that any Lord Commissioner would waste their time in a mudpit like St Martin, even if ten ships had been mysteriously lost; but she needed to know about the young man, and so she remained quiet.

"Oh! Well," Mayor Dix beamed. "In that case, you'd best tell us, Lieutenant!"

Scarfield leant in, allowing his hand to brush innocently against Frances' as he stood closer. "He was found by the merchant ship The Carpathia, adrift in the middle of nowhere, clinging to a piece of The Monarch's deck, barely alive. Apparently, the young man has not regained consciousness. They had to carry him off The Carpathia themselves, unable to rouse him from his deep sleep; the nuns sent word that they have little hope for his recovery."

Frances' attention seemed completely engaged now. "Have you seen him, Lieutenant? Is he truly past hope of recovery?"

"I confess, my lady," Scarfield exulted in her fascination, "I have not had the time to investigate this matter personally." He paused to send a short, meaningful glance towards the Mayor, "There have been several other pressing matters requiring my attention today. However, I expect to interrogate the young man soon. When they found him, his sleeves were torn."

"Desertion?" Frances breathed.

Scarfield had to stop himself from smiling. Frances' eyes were wide, her lips parted, her entire expression one of barely disguised hunger. He knew he had her; and with only a little more work, he expected he'd be able to fix her interest with him permanently. "Yes, my lady; a treasonable offense."

"But what do we know of his family? His connections?" Frances asked.

Scarfield shook his head. "I'm afraid it is likely he has none." 

Frances turned suddenly to her husband.

"My dear," her voice hitched, "Please excuse me, I have just seen Mrs. Besançon. I must make my apologies for tonight."

"Of course, dear, off you go," The Mayor nodded generously at her.

Without even a glance at Scarfield, Frances swept off to where she had spied the French landlady.

"See, Mayor?" Scarfield smiled indulgently, admiring the way Frances was trying so obviously to hide what he knew he'd seen in her face by her abrupt departure. "A woman needs her gossip. It is to them as hard work and diligence is to a man."

The Mayor nodded absently, watching as his wife greeted the French lady, before turning to the lieutenant with a grave look. "Now tell me about last night. You wrote this morning that another victim was discovered?"

"At dawn." Scarfield's face instantly adopted a more serious expression and fell into step beside the Mayor as they walked.

"G-good Lord," Mayor Dix paled and his lips fell slack.

"Mayor, it is getting worse." Scarfield continued without preamble. "It's as if its appetite is... increasing."

The Mayor's face fell. "I was afraid of that." He said in a low voice. "How many is it now?"

"Fifteen, sir."

The Mayor looked off into the distance. "Fifteen in five months."

"Sixteen now, sir."

"What am I to do, Scarfield?" He looked helplessly at him. "I charged you with making sure the people kept the curfew. Why is this still happening?"

"There was only one victim this time, and it was a drunk, sir."

Scarfield forbore to mention it was actually the local baker who'd had the gumption to present his bill to Scarfield right in his rooms at the Barracks, the insubordinate wretch. He'd put him in the stocks for his impudence, and deliberately left him there overnight.

"I know it must not be much consolation to you, but I am of the opinion the victim would not have been conscious when he was attacked," he lied.

"It _is_ a poor consolation, but perhaps he did not feel it when – when the creature took him."

"Indeed, he would not have suffered greatly."

Not too greatly, Scarfield reflected, thinking of the faceless corpse that had been strewn in pieces about the town square. He suspected the baker had been unconscious from bloodloss for most of it.

Secretly, he was satisfied the annoying man had been dispatched so relatively easily.

He was actually looking forward to dispatching many more regular lawbreakers in a similar manner. It used far less of the island's revenue to get rid of them this way – public executions, while satisfying, cost a great deal of time and money – and he had begun to entertain the thought that the creature was actually doing him a personal favour by preying on the populace.

But now was the time to settle the current issue with a certain young lady currently gracing the inside of one of his cells, and the annoyingly active Mr. Onslow.

"Mayor, I must alert you to another matter at present." He began. "I arrested a dubious young lady yesterday morning, who'd been attempting to proposition poor Mr Swift."

"What?" The Mayor stuttered. "In the morning?"

"Indeed. And in his own observatory too."

"Goodness…" The Mayor's eyes glazed over. "What is the world coming to?"

"She is a stowaway I believe, and unfamiliar with good, Christian society."

"A stowaway, you say?" Scarfield watched the Mayor's mind turn it over. "How long has she been here?"

"Oh, only a few months." He lied. "Although, of course, she tried to use her feminine wiles to convince my men she has only been here a week. But our investigations have concluded quite decisively that she has been here for the past five months."

The Mayor's face went white.

Scarfield, looking casually about the town square, played the part of the unaware everyman perfectly.

"Scarfield." The Mayor said heavily. " _Five_ months."

"I beg your pardon sir?" He looked inquisitively at Mayor Dix.

"These attacks…" He looked at his wife, still talking animatedly with Mrs. Besançon some distance away. "I don't want to… but Scarfield. I think you should question this… this _woman_ very carefully."

"Really, sir?"

"Yes." The Mayor stared solemnly at the lieutenant. "You have my permission to employ whatever means necessary to find out the truth of this woman's origins and activities since she came to the island."

"But why, sir?" Scarfield pretended shock. "She is a woman… I surely cannot… treat her the same as a male prisoner?"

"Lieutenant… I hate to say this… but she… might not even be a _she_."

Scarfield almost felt like laughing, but managed to suppress it in a Shakespearean turn of acting that would have won him accolades on the London stage.

"Whatever do you mean, sir?"

"Just… question her, Scarfield. And get back to me as soon as you know something substantial."


	9. This Rebellious Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capitán Armando Salazar has escaped from the St Martin Hospital... but not everything is going as smoothly as he would wish.
> 
> (Spanish Translations at end of chapter - I am learning Spanish, so if you notice any incorrect phrasing or tense please let me know!)

As the sun shone down on the thriving island populace, Capitán Armando Salazar stalled to a halt in the middle of the busy St Martin street.

He'd thought it would pass.

He'd thought he could overcome it.

But he had never been more wrong.

 _Throbbing_. Ceaseless, relentless, deafening _throbbing_ in the ears. The turbulent heartbeat of the body he'd stolen, beating its hate for him. It pulsed louder than the sounds of the horses' hooves, louder than the cries of vendors selling their wares, louder than the coarse laughter of pedestrians around him.

_Throb, throb, throb._

He closed the eyes that weren't his and tried to steady himself, taking deep breaths; but the sun burned through the translucent skin, making his vision red; and the lungs tightened uncomfortably with each breath. The nose that was not his itched in the combined stink of horse manure and stale sea air. The rough cotton shirt he'd stolen from the hospital chafed irritably across the skin… _real_ skin! He'd forgotten what real skin even felt like.

Had being alive always been this awful?

Had it always been this _obscene_?

It had been so long since he was last alive that he couldn't even remember.

The dry throat clamoured for a cool drink to soothe it, the feet pinched painfully in the stolen shoes, something hot trickled disgustingly down the neck. He reached up calloused fingers to scratch at the discomfort, and felt the smooth skin wet with sweat. A pervasive itch began under one eye, migrated from the cheek to the chin, before reappearing inexplicably between the shoulder blades.

This body hated him. And it wanted him to know it.

Every second he was in it, it was fighting him.

 _Stolen_ , the heartbeat drummed.

 _Stolen_ , the lungs constricted.

 _Stolen,_ the itch finished, and prickled accusingly over the skin.

Everything – the body, the shoes, the clothes.

Everything was stolen.

 _Stolen! Stolen! Stolen!_ The body shouted, and Armando wondered that no one else could hear its deafening roar.

Someone shouldered him, hard.

"Watchit, mate." Came a loud voice – _too loud_. A greasy-looking man with a bulbous nose growled in his face. "Outta the way there."

He winced and clapped hands over the ringing ears and groaned, almost stumbling backwards over the uneven gutter until his shoulders hit the rough stone wall of the building behind him.

The throbbing heartbeat pulsed ever more loudly.

"Este cuerpo..." Armando whispered wretchedly, and pulled himself around the corner, away from the busy street, into the quieter laneway that ran between buildings. Resting his head against the wall, he tried to bring himself under control.

He'd thought if he could just escape the hospital, it would get better. He'd hated the hospital the moment he regained consciousness, with its itchy bed, and its bustling nuns, and its constant _noise_ … but, of course, escaping hadn't actually solved anything.

In fact, things had only gotten worse.

He began to doubt the lunacy that had driven him to possess a body in the first place.

"Soy un idiota." He muttered… and even the voice was unfamiliar. Younger and higher pitched than normal. The voice of the one whose body he'd taken.

Armando raked fingers through loose hair in frustration.

Another itch started rebelliously across the scalp, as though repelled by his touch.

He was starting to feel _him_ – the boy – or rather, his _consciousnes_ s – inside, threatening to break free and eject him from this vexatious body the moment he could.

And the itching grew worse.

"¿Por qué tienes que picar?"

Armando scratched viciously at another itch behind the ear, and glared down at the body he possessed.

He could almost hear the boy chuckling in response to his attempt to scratch himself, and another itch, this time right in the crotch, made Armando hiss in rage and swear.

"¡Cabrón!"

Two young ladies passing by the laneway cast a frightened glance at him and quickened their pace.

Armando turned and walked stiffly further down the laneway, not stopping until he was hidden from view behind a stack of empty wooden crates.

"¡Este cuerpo es mío ahora! No me obligarás a salir," he scolded the rebellious flesh, but it was no good.

The itching was _everywhere_. With supreme willpower Armando refused to scratch, even when it settled vindictively into both sides of his – or rather, the boy's – balls.

"Damn you, boy!" Armando said in English under his breath. "If I'd known you were going to be such a brat, I'd have taken the other one instead."

Curiously, the itching stopped.

Armando paused in surprise.

Had the itching stopped because the boy had… somehow… heard him?

He ventured to speak out loud again.

"I don't want this any more than you do." He began slowly. "But what's done is done."

The itch came back with a fiery vengeance.

"Stop!" Armando hissed again, but it didn't. "I have a purpose to complete, and if you help me… I'll… I'll leave."

Armando knew it wasn't _entirely_ the truth, but he was desperate.

The itch stopped again.

"I have something… I need to do. As soon as I've done it, I'll go." Armando promised. "You can have your body back."

Everything was definitely quieter now, as though the boy was again listening intently.

With a tentative look around the stack of crates to make sure he was still alone, Armando spoke again.

"I am looking for someone. The pirate who took my life from me. He condemned me to the Devil's Triangle… and his name is Jack Sparrow."

At once Armando felt a strange unbalancing in the centre of his brain.

He almost fell sideways when there came a voice, speaking for the first time, directly into his mind.

_I know him._

It was the young man - the boy whose body he was in.

"What?"

_I know him._

The boy was talking to him.

"You – you know him?" Armando could barely believe what he was hearing.

_I've been looking for him for years. Ever since I was a boy._

"Pfft." Armando scoffed. "You're still a boy now."

_Do you want my help to find Sparrow or not?_

Armando hesitated. "You know where he is?"

_I do._

Excited, Armando started to talk fast. "Do you know where he is now?"

The voice was suddenly reticent.

"Well?" Armando pushed.

_I need Jack Sparrow alive._

Armando frowned. "Alive?"

_Yes. I need something from Jack Sparrow. Before you kill him._

Armando was stunned. "How… how do you know... I wish to kill him?"

The voice chuckled dryly. _You feel my body. I feel your thoughts. And the overwhelming quality of your thoughts are… murderous._

"But what do you want with the Sparrow?"

 _He knows where the Trident of Poseidon is._ The boy was completely certain. _With it, I can break the curse that holds my father captive._

Armando had a sudden image of the boy's father, pleading with his son to return home, before the image was abruptly torn away.

 _ That _ _is private._

But Armando had seen the father's face in the memory, horribly encrusted with living anemones. "What is wrong with him?"

_He is under a curse. Like you._

Armando considered this.

"And you think Sparrow… a pirate… will help you?"

_If he doesn't, I will make him._

Armando could sense that underlying the short words was a steely resolve, and he knew the boy would indeed 'make' Sparrow help him.

But Armando was unwilling to give away control just like that.

"Your certainty is naïve, boy." Armando told him. "But you forget: Sparrow is a pirate. He cannot be trusted to be anything but wicked. No. I will find Sparrow myself, and then I will kill him, as he deserves."

At once, the itching started again.

"Stop." Armando commanded.

_If you're not going to help, get used to it._

A painful leg cramp seized hold, causing Armando to stagger against the crates, knocking several of them to the ground.

"Deja de actuar como un niño mimado!" Armando gritted through his teeth, pushing both fists against the wall to steady himself through the pain.

 _Go ahead,_ the boy was mocking him. _Try and kill Jack Sparrow. I can keep this up for days!_

"Stop!"

_No!_

On an impulse, Armando wrapped two hands around his throat. "Stop or I'll hurt you!"

_Help me get the Trident, and I'll stop!_

"You – demand – too much – boy!" Armando squeezed harder, enough for them both to feel it.

_You're mad!_

"Sparrow murdered me!" He gasped. "I – deserve – vengeance."

 _I don't care what you deserve, Spaniard!_ Came the retort. _My father deserves to be freed. If you don't help me, I'll make your time in my body a living hell._

"I'll kill you!" Armando threatened.

_Then you'll die too!_

"Here." A harsh voice interrupted them. "What you doin'?"

Armando turned.

It was the same greasy-looking man who'd shoved him in the street, holding a half-forgotten pistol in his hand as he squinted over his fat nose at Armando. Behind the greasy man, a buxom woman with scraggly hair peered at him with pig-like eyes.

"Fink 'e's a mad un, Ralph." The woman said.

Ralph shrugged. "Should be easy pickin's then, Lu."

Armando stared at them in confusion.

 _Do stop making a cake of yourself, Spaniard!_ The boy snapped. _Drop your hands! We're being robbed!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Este cuerpo… This body…
> 
> Soy un idiota I'm an idiot
> 
> ¿Por qué tienes que picar? Why must you always itch?
> 
> ¡Cabrón! Bastard!
> 
> ¡Este cuerpo es mío ahora! No me obligarás a salir This body is mine now! You can't force me out
> 
> ¡Deja de actuar como un niño mimado! Stop acting like a spoilt brat!


	10. The Capitán And Henry Have An Accord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capitán Armando Salazar is in a battle of wills with Henry Turner over control of the same body when they are rudely interrupted by two robbers...

**PREVIOUSLY**...

_It was the same greasy-looking man who'd shoved him in the street, the pistol in his hand half-forgotten, as he squinted over his fat nose at Armando. Behind the greasy man, a buxom woman with scraggly hair peered at him with pig-like eyes._

_"Fink 'e's a mad un, Ralph." The woman said._

_Ralph shrugged. "Should be easy pickin's then, Lu."_

_Armando stared at them in confusion._

_Do stop making a cake of yourself, Spaniard! The boy snapped. Drop your hands! We're being robbed!_

 

* * *

 

 Slowly, Armando dropped his hands from around his throat.

"I seen a gent do that before." Lu pressed a stubby hand on Ralph's shoulder, leaning to get a better look. "Choked his own neck while he was dippin' 'is wick. Got 'imself off that way."

Ralph sniggered, showing a mouthful of rotting teeth.

"Well, now that you've 'ad yer pleasure, sir, it's our turn to 'ave ours." He tightened the grip on the pistol to point it right in Armando's face. "Give us all yer money."

_Oh, wonderful. And I suppose you don't have anything to give them, do you?_

"You are mistaken in thinking I have any money." Armando growled. "I have nothing."

_Oh, very good, tell them the truth, that should save us. Well, you won't have to kill us now, because these two sterling citizens are going to kill us for you._

"Well, forgive me for not believin' yer…" Ralph grinned.

_What did I tell you?_

"…but you sound like the type to carry a bit of blunt," He eyed him up and down, "Though yer dressed a bit on the light side."

"'E ain't got no waistcoat." Lu observed. "Ain't never seen a gent in just 'is shirt and 'is breeches afore."

"'E talks like one though." Ralph was determined.

"Nah, reckon 'e really is mad. 'E was talkin' to 'imself." Lu cackled, eyeing him. "Ooo, but 'e is a pretty one. Wouldn't mind a go at 'im."

"Yeah," Ralph leered. "Bet he makes all the whores wet themselves."

Armando shifted in frustration.

Ralph's pistol followed him. "Steady, now." He said. "Don't go tryin' anything."

"Enough." Armando growled. "No escapé del infierno a las palabras bandeadas con un gusano estúpido."

The couple hesitated, unprepared for the burst of Spanish that had left the lips of the pretty young gentleman in front of them.

"What… what did 'e say?" Lu breathed. "Was like a priest saying the rosary f'mass."

Armando's eyes flamed bright orange, and the old familiar bloodlust rose up inside him.

 _Please don't!_ The boy was suddenly alarmed.

"Your blood will stain your feet where you stand," Armando hissed with a cruel smile, and began to advance on them.

The would-be robbers backed up a step, frightened as his handsome face seemed to change unnaturally before their eyes.

_Stop! He'll shoot us!_

But Armando was quicker, knocking the pistol from Ralph's grime-stained hand, and landing a solid fist to his face. Ralph went down with a heavy grunt.

"Ralph!"

Armando ignored Lu's screeching in favour of giving Ralph a good kick to the gut, flipping him onto his back.

A sizeable leather drawstring bag tumbled out onto the dirty cobblestones, clinking with coin.

"What's this?" Armando picked it up and raised an eyebrow. "I think, hombre, it is _I_ who should be robbing you."

He held the bag tightly in his fist, and moved to give Ralph another kick.

"Stay back, you devil!" Lu shoved Armando away from Ralph, "Or I'll gut you!"

She clumsily pulled a nasty looking knife out of her boot and held it out, her dirty arm shaking as she stabbed the air between them in warning. "Back! Or I'll poke holes in you."

 _Don't kill her._ The boy suddenly said, his fear and worry penetrating Armando's mind.

"Why not?"

_She's... she's a woman._

"And?"

_We can't leave dead bodies behind._

"We hide them."

_In this heat? They'll be smelt a mile away._

"They are hardly a rose garden now." Armando muttered. "I do not see what the problem is. They are pathetic, no better than pirates. Why can't I kill them?"

 _Because_ , he could almost feel the boy rolling his eyes, _we can't go around advertising our presence with dead bodies. Public execution is the fastest way to prevent us from ever finding Jack Sparrow_.

"Hmmm." Armando paused. "That is, unfortunately, a good point."

"Kill 'im, Lu!" Ralph cried, trying to lurch to his knees. "Kill the mad bugger!"

Spurred on, Lu screeched again, and ran at Armando with the knife; but he sidestepped her as smoothly as a Matador, tripping her to fall flat on her face in an enviably precise move.

"'E's bwokun m'node!" Lu cried at Ralph, rolling to her side as she pinched her bleeding nose. "Shoo' de bastar!"

Armando turned and caught Ralph crawling towards the pistol, and neatly kicked it out of the way.

It hit the wall so hard the barrel bent.

"You were mistaken to choose such a pathetic weapon." He told Ralph. "Pistols are inferior. The powder gets damp, the hammer jams, the ball gets stuck in the barrel..."

Armando strode over to where Lu was still rolling on her back, her head tilted up to stop the bleeding, and pressed a foot on her stomach, before leaning down and wresting the knife from her grip.

He examined the craftsmanship of it, and nodded admiringly. "Now this," He flipped it in the air before catching it again, "This is an excellent weapon."

He stooped down and found the knife's sheath tied just above Lu's boot, and pulled it free.

"'Ere! Gi' id back! Tha's no' yours!" Lu wailed.

"And very likely not yours, either." Armando returned smoothly. "Now leave, if you value your lives."

Lu and Ralph needed no second invitation. They staggered out of the laneway without even daring a glance behind them.

_That was… impressive._

Armando snorted. "You forget I am a Capitán, boy."

_Capitán?_

"Capitán Armando Salazar." He said proudly. "The most accomplished Capitán under the rule of His Majesty King Philip."

It had seemed a long time since he had last said it.

_Ah._

Armando still held the knife.

For a moment, he thought about threatening the boy again.

But as much as he wanted to convince the boy of his willingness to hurt the body they shared, the truth was… Armando wanted revenge too much to lose this chance. Killing the body would mean they would both die. And Sparrow would still be out there, roaming around, free.

It was not a pleasant thought.

Sensing Armando's shifting mood, the young man started to speak persuasively as he could. _Help me. I'll stop fighting you… just help me find the Trident. And then Sparrow's all yours. I'll even help you kill him, if you want – but we get the Trident first._

Armando deliberated, before sliding the knife in its sheath slowly.

"Tell me about this Trident," he said, as he knelt to secure the sheath in his boot.

 _The Trident is real. Sparrow found it once – or so I heard. If we can't find Sparrow, I've heard there's also a map that could tell us where it is. Once we have it, it will free my father._ The voice turned thoughtful. _You know, it could probably free you too. If you took hold of it, it would give you back whatever the Devil's Triangle stole from you._

Armando stilled.

"How do you know this?"

_I studied it._

"You studied the Trident?"

_Well, truthfully, I'm not exactly sure how that part works, but I think if you touch it, it gives you the power to break any curse made at sea, which would include your own…_

The image anchored itself in Armando's mind. Him, in his proper body, alive – and standing over Sparrow's dead body. He imagined wiping the blade of the sword he'd use to kill the wretch on his still chest, and turning away finally – _finally_ , truly free.

Armando carefully hid the image away, and changed the subject. "You must love your father, then."

The boy didn't reply, but Armando could sense he was puzzled by the question.

"I wonder," Armando mused slyly, "If your father loves you as much as you love him?"

At once a tirade of curses overwhelmed Armando's mind, accompanied by a short and sharp twinge that pinched his shoulders.

"Enough!" Armando growled. "You keep hurting me, boy, and I won't be able to do more than hobble after Jack Sparrow."

 _The name's Henry._ The voice told him. _So you can stop calling me boy_.

Armando raised an eyebrow. "But you sound like a boy." He looked down at the body they shared. "And you certainly don't have a big enough manhood to be –"

Armando felt the threat of pain again, and stopped talking.

 _So,_ Henry said tightly. _Do we have an agreement? We find Sparrow, he takes me to the Trident. You let me use it to free my father – and free you – and then you can do as you wish. You get your body back, and then you can kill Sparrow, travel home to Spain, dance a jig – I couldn't care less – it's your choice. So long as my father gets freed._

Armando paused. The thought of having to talk with Sparrow at all was still distasteful. The only words he wanted to waste on Sparrow were ones highlighting the villain's imminent death. But then, to have this body fighting him every step of the way… well, it would be tiresome, to say the least.

"We have an agreement." Armando relented. "I will work with you to find the Trident – but once I am freed, you're on your own. I don't care what happens to your father."

 _That's fair._ Henry agreed. _So, what should we do now?_

"Now? I – pérdon, we – start to look for a way off of this accursed island."

_Which island are we on? I didn't quite catch that part at the hospital._

"St Martin."

_St Martin? But this is the last place Jack Sparrow was seen!_

Armando smiled genuinely for the first time since he woke on the island. "Is it now? How very ... serendipitous."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> No escapé del infierno a las palabras bandeadas con un gusano estúpido - I did not escape hell to bandy words with a witless worm.


	11. A Gift And A Promise Of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Mr Onslow farewells Carina, Scarfield prepares to question her further about the journal, while Armando and Henry question some of the crew of the Dying Gull about Jack Sparrow...

"Alright, sir, but it's been long enough." Hobbs cleared his throat. "The Lieutenant wants to speak to the young lady now."

Mr Onslow turned to scowl as Scarfield stepped into the small corridor, a smug smile on his face.

"Mr. Onslow." Scarfield bowed slightly to the gentleman. "I trust all is, in spite of the circumstances, relatively well."

Mr Onslow favoured the Lieutenant with an even colder look, before turning his back on Scarfield completely and reaching through the bars to grasp Carina's hand between both of his large ones.

"Goodbye, Miss Smyth," he heartily shook her hand, as Carina's eyes widened in surprise. "I hope when I see you next it is perhaps at a better _time_."

He continued shaking her hand for a few moments longer than necessary, almost to the point of awkwardness, until Scarfield cleared his throat.

"Visiting hours are over, Mr. Onslow."

Carina stepped forward to the bars, appearing to use both of her hands to detach herself from Mr Onslow's clasp.

"You have my gratitude always, sir." She said significantly, with a slight nod; before stepping back, both her hands tucked demurely in the folds of her skirts.

"My dear," Mr Onslow said gently to Carina, "I wish you all the best."

"Of course." Carina nodded meekly.

He nodded once more, and turned to leave – but not before saying to Scarfield, "You will pay for the disrespect you have shown that young lady, Lieutenant. I see the bruise on her cheek as plain as day. This will not be the last you see of me."

 

* * *

  

In the dim afternoon light streaming through the filmy windows of Grimes' pub, Gibbs and Scrum shrewdly measured the young man seated across from them.

"I want information."

"And what be yer name, young sir?" Gibbs asked slowly.

The young man placed a gold coin on the table between them, and slid it across to Gibbs.

"Forget the name."

Picking it up, Gibbs felt its weight in his palm. It was real. He glanced sideways at Scrum from under his eyebrows, and nodded.

"Alright." Scrum folded his arms across his chest and put on his gruffest voice. "What d'yer wanna know?"

"I want to know only one thing," the man said. "Where is the pirate they call Jack Sparrow?"

Gibbs and Scrum shared a look.

Gibbs gulped a heavy mouthful of rum from the dented tin cup in front of him and was silent.

"Who's askin'?" Scrum finally said.

"An old friend."

Gibbs gave a disbelieving snort into his pint. "Jack don't have friends."

The young man slid another gold coin across the table. "I just wish to know where I can find him."

Gibbs leaned in. "What be yer business with Jack?"

"Old business. Between him and me."

In the dull light of the tavern, Gibbs could've sworn the young man's eyes flared orange for a second.

"You're not a spy or somethin', are you?" Scrum asked, flicking his eyes over the young man's clothes. "Cause you don't sound English."

The young man's upper lip lifted, showing his teeth. "I am not."

It took a moment for Scrum to realise that the man was smiling at him.

Gibbs thought he had never seen someone smile quite so strangely before in his life.

"Where you from, then?" Scrum wondered.

The young man seemed even more amused. "I would tell you, but I do not think you would believe me."

"You from Spain?" Gibbs asked.

"I was. Once."

"You sure you're not a spy?"

" _I am not_." The eyes flared again. "But I do not sit here to talk about me. I want to know about the Sparrow." The young man paused, as though thinking, before reluctantly asking, "And if he has a ship?"

"Aye." Gibbs slowly turned the coin between his fingers. "He does."

The man's patience seemed to be coming to an end. "And where is this ship?"

Scrum shrugged and decided to tell him. "'Ere. On St Martin."

The young man stilled completely, his eyes pinning Scrum uncomfortably in place.

"So Sparrow… is definitely here?"

"Aye." Scrum felt distinctly cold, though he couldn't say why.

Another gold coin. "I would very much like to… _speak_ … with Jack." The young man leaned forward, with another odd smile. "Where is he?"

Gibbs pressed a warning elbow against Scrum's side under the table.

" _Where_ is he?" The eyes were definitely fire-coloured.

"Well, hang on a minute." Scrum ignored Gibbs' not very subtle gestures. "We've told you he's here on St Martin, but we don't even know who you are mate. You come in 'ere, dressed all odd-like, an' you say you're from Spain. And your eyes –"

"Scrum." Gibbs hissed, and then added in a louder voice, "Well, look at the time. We must be off, sir."

"What?" Scrum looked at his companion. "I'm jus' sayin', it's a bit strange an' all."

"I must apologise for my companion, sir. He gets a bit of drink in him and doesn't know when to _shut up_." Gibbs glared at Scrum.

"I thought –" Scrum stared back.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and stood, pulling Scrum up by the elbow with him.

"Sorry, young master, but we've told you all that we know, and now we best be going. We have… a prior engagement."

The young man stood and moved in their path with a speed that made Scrum's eyes pop.

"If you see him, perhaps you could give him a message for me? Please?" The young man's eyes glittered. "Tell Sparrow… Death is coming. Straight for him."

And then the young man was gone.

"Bloody hell!" Scrum looked all around the tavern. "How'd he do that?"

"Let's get back to the Gull," Gibbs dragged Scrum's arm. "And get ready to sail."

"But… what about the plan?" Scrum tugged his arm back. "The plan to rob the bank tomorrow? I thought we was gonna give Jack one last chance –"

Gibbs jerked Scrum out the tavern door and turned to hiss in his face. "There's a change of plan now."

"But…" Scrum realised. "Do you know who that was?"

"No." Gibbs swallowed. "But I don't want to know. I've been around Jack long enough to know when something's wrong, and that boy definitely wasn't right."

As Gibbs and Scrum argued on their way back to the Dying Gull, from the long afternoon shadows Armando Salazar leaned discreetly against the tavern wall and watched, before following from a distance.

 


	12. Scarfield Questions Carina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the free rein he obtained from the Mayor, Scarfield questions Carina about the journal.

Scarfield stood in front of the cell, watching until the guards had escorted Mr Onslow well out of earshot.

He then retrieved the journal from inside his coat, and held it up for her to see.

"This." He began perfunctorily. "Do you know what this is?"

Carina didn't answer immediately. He could see she was already trying to think of a way to negotiate with him.

"Just answer the question."

"Yes."

"And?"

"It's – it's the journal of Galileo Galilei."

Scarfield nodded. He'd already suspected as much. "Can you read it?"

"Some."

"Now tell me, and tell me truthfully, do you know everything it says?"

"If I can only read some, I can't truthfully say I know _everything_ it says."

"Don't toy with me, girl!" he warned. "Answer the question."

"What exactly are you asking?" She countered.

Gritting his teeth, he stepped closer to the bars and lowered his voice. "Does it give the precise location of the Trident of Poseidon?"

She looked at him in surprise, and then covered quickly with a mocking smile. "I didn't think you men believed in such things. Aren't you all too _learned_ to believe in fairy tales?"

"Don't be impudent, girl! Answer me!"

She tilted her head, still smiling confidently. It made him want to slap it off her face. "It says it contains a map that indicates its location. But only under specific…circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

The smile disappeared. "I want to be freed."

"Impossible."

"Then I do not know any more."

He knew she would try this. _Women are so predictable._

"You stand accused of several serious crimes," he said softly. "And I'm afraid to say, there will be no recourse for you. No trial, no jury."

"You cannot do that. Every prisoner is allowed a trial." She replied. "It is not true justice otherwise."

Scarfield rocked back on his heels. "You know, Miss Smyth, it's strange, the happenings on this island. Gruesome things, to those who do not bolt and bar themselves in at night. Some say it is a monster. Others, a ghost. But most seem to hold the belief that it is a Witch among us. I myself was used to thinking it naught but the work of common outlaws, but now… I am not so sure. I've been starting to wonder, what has changed on the island lately. Who is here, that was not here before? Who is new? Who is… out of place?"

She stared at him. "You mean… me?"

He smiled. "Exactly."

“You know I am no more a witch than… than the Mayor's own wife!” She protested.

“Ah, but witchcraft is such an insidious crime – best we take no chances, don’t you think? Hanging is still _quite_ popular for suspected witches here.”

"But Britain abolished witchcraft as an executable crime years ago." She lifted her chin defiantly.

"Ah, but technically, St Martin isn't under British jurisdiction."

"It won't be allowed."

"It _will_ be allowed."

Carina scoffed with false bravado, but her voice betrayed her fear. "Because _you_ say so? Then justice is sorely lacking on this island!"

"But my dear, the people are afraid. You say it is not justice, but you fail to see it from our point of view. There are so many nationalities here on the island: French, Dutch, English… so many political interests to be upheld. We are, all of us, trying to live peaceably with one another, trying to avoid the strife that plague our home countries and just… get along. And then you have someone, a monster – a _witch_ – stalking innocent people in the public square at night, attacking, maiming, injuring, killing… and it terrifies them. It enrages them. It fills them with a thirst for blood. And it makes my job just that much more difficult…" Scarfield sighed. "So, you see, I need to satisfy the cause of justice. These crimes are so heinous, they demand the ultimate penalty. Only then will the people of St Martin be satisfied. Only when the Witch is dead, will they feel safe."

He could see her chewing over everything he was telling her, and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

"What do you want from me?"

Scarfield's eyes glittered.

"It's simple. I want you to read this journal to me. All of it."

"What?"

Scarfield tapped it against the bars. "Read it, and I will reconsider your sentence."

Carina shook her head. "I told you, I cannot read all of it. I can only read some."

"Cannot? Or will not?"

Her temper flared. "I _cannot_ read it! The Italian is too old. I came here hoping to find someone to translate it – I heard there were some here, who could speak the Old Italian, but now I am running out of time."

Scarfield snorted. "You have indeed run out of time."

Carina shook her head impetuously. "No, not that. I meant –"

She stopped.

Scarfield scented blood, and closed in. "What did you mean?"

But she shook her head and turned away.

"Tell me what you are running out of time for, and I will be generous."

Carina lifted her chin and looked over her shoulder at him. "Let me go and I'll tell you."

"That would be impossible." He repeated.

"Then it is impossible that I tell you."

Scarfield paced in front of her cell. "I can pronounce your sentence in an instant. But it is also in my power to change your sentence at any time, to declare new evidence has come to light, to name another suspect –"

Carina snorted.

Scarfield stopped pacing, his voice hardening. "Just as it is in my power to denounce you finally and irrevocably as the Witch of St Martin. To have you executed. Tomorrow, if I so choose." He watched as her shoulders slowly slumped, and leaned in. "So tell me."

"Please," she said softly, turning to grasp the bars between her fingers. "Change the sentence. Remove my crimes. I will tell you, only let me out."

Scarfield gazed at her, revelling in her subjection.

He liked it so much when they begged.

He savoured his power over her: the look in her eyes, the way her limp hair brushed forward over her bosom as she leaned towards the bars. He almost reached out to touch those white-knuckled fingers, but satisfied himself instead with imagining for just a moment what it would be like to subject those fingers to his pleasure. Carina was begging him, and yet it was still not quite _enough_ begging for Scarfield's tastes. Not yet.

Scarfield called for the guard.

"West, go and fetch this prisoner's papers." The Officer nodded and left; Scarfield turned back to Carina. "Now tell me."

"I –" Carina looked from Scarfield to the doorway the guard had just left through and back, before finally appearing to surrender. "The… the journal has secrets. Hidden inside, somehow, is a map. It cannot be seen, except under the light of a blood moon."

Scarfield smiled. "And there is a blood moon tonight."

"Yes," she answered hopelessly. "Between half past midnight and 2 o'clock in the morning."

Scarfield breathed out. "Thank you. You have been most helpful."

West returned with papers. "Here, sir."

Scarfield held her eye. "I must confess, this woman's presence here is upsetting the men." His smile turned cold as he looked over her papers. "I suppose I can make an amendment to her punishment… and keep her in the stocks overnight."

"You – you utter _bastard_!" The woman cried.

West stared. "The stocks?"

"Yes, West, the stocks. I believe a night in the stocks should be sufficient punishment."

He hesitated. "I'm sorry sir, but it's – it's getting towards sunset."

"So?"

"The guards – they prefer not to venture out after sunset. On account of – on account of the strange goings on, sir."

"Is that so?"

Scarfield's eyes glinted. He considered for a moment putting West in the stocks with her for uttering such cowardice, but when he saw the fearful way she drank in West's words, he decided on a more productive course.

"Well, perhaps... the lady could have a reprieve."

He smoothed the edges of the journal with his fingers, and looked up at her, making sure she could not miss his meaning.

" _Perhaps_ … I could allow her to… elaborate her 'confession' to me… share her knowledge of the Italian in this journal... in the privacy of my rooms instead."

Carina spat in Scarfield's face.

"Remove her to the stocks now, West." Scarfield wiped his face calmly. "If she is not forthcoming by sunset, you may leave her there until dawn. I always have other paths to getting what I want," he placed the journal back inside his coat, "She, however, must realise her paths are significantly decreasing in number."

"Yes, sir. Will she – will she be needing guards during the night, sir?"

"No, I do not think that will be necessary. They may return to the barracks at sunset."

West nodded, obviously relieved. "Thank you, sir."

"Make sure all the men know. You are dismissed."

Scarfield turned back to Carina.

"Whatever happens to you, is your own choice, my dear. Remember that. You have until sunset to reconsider my offer. And then – you're on your own." And with that he turned and left her, ignoring the curses she cried out after him.

 

 


	13. Jack and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frances sees Carina put in the stocks, Armando and Henry argue about the best course of action, and Jack starts early with the rum... courtesy of a generous stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cameo from the (disc)world of one my favourite characters in this chapter ; )

Frances stood outside the haberdashery shop in the late afternoon sun while her husband finally settled accounts.

"Nothing but the best for you, my dear," he'd pronounced before gently shooing her outside.

He never let her pay for anything, preferring always to accompany her on every shopping expedition, be it ever so small. He even abhorred conducting transactions in her presence, considering it far beneath a lady to be concerned with such 'manly' things as money.

As she waited, Frances surveyed the latest victim to be introduced to the stocks.

Putting someone in the stocks was one of the worst methods of punishment on St Martin. It also had the effect of severely discouraging bad behaviour on the island, for one very simple fact: those left in the stocks overnight never survived. Of course, no one ever discovered who or what was killing them. But no one ever lived to see the sun rise.

However, it took no more than a moment to ascertain that the woman who'd been placed in the stocks was no drunken lout. Even from this distance away, Frances could see she was a young lady, and uncommonly pretty. Definitely not the type used to having their ankles locked in the stocks. She wondered what the poor girl had done to warrant such a severe penalty.

 _Probably insulted Lieutenant Scarfield's manhood,_ she sneered inwardly.

She detested Scarfield, but, at her husband's instruction, was constantly at pains to be accommodating to the man whose authority was exceeded only by her husband.

"He is invaluable to me, m'dear." Her husband would pat her hand consolingly. "Never knew a man more effective at keeping the peace."

 _Only because his methods of punishment are so savage,_ Frances always wanted to snap back, but she kept her mouth shut, for she’d been taught a wife was never to disagree with her husband. And playing the part of the perfect wife was necessary. At least for now.

Two soldiers stood by, keeping a lazy guard on the girl in the stocks.

Frances knew that once the sun set, the soldiers would most likely retreat into the safety of their barracks. She licked her lips.

Terrible rumours had sprung up ever since Frances had come to the island – rumours of a witch, a creature, a beast that preyed upon hapless victims in the public square at dead of night.

At first, her husband had shrugged off such rumours as the results of an overactive imagination amongst the populace, possibly brought on by the heat, but lately, she knew there'd been far too much evidence brought to his attention – and he was now convinced that it was real.

Try as she might, however, he would not share anything with his wife.

She could only tell by the change in his demeanour whenever the subject came up in polite conversation, that the 'evidence' – the remains of those attacked – was something quite horrible.

Frances could almost feel sorry for her, knowing that it was highly unlikely she'd survive the night. Still, she conceded inwardly, being eaten was entirely preferable to whatever else Scarfield might have had in mind for the poor girl. _Entirely_ preferable.

 

* * *

 

Having watched discreetly as Jack Sparrow's crew readied the Dying Gull to sail with the tide, by sunset Armando and Henry were once again at cross purposes.

Armando had insisted they leave the crew and locate Sparrow, but Henry had been reluctant.

 _They're getting close to being ready to sail,_ he complained as Armando began to march them back towards the town centre _. What if they leave before we get back?_

"The crew is expendable. Sparrow is not."

_Oh? So how do we find the Trident with no crew and no ship?_

"Well, boy –"

_Henry._

"– I could find Sparrow faster if you'd let me –"

 _Absolutely not!_ Henry retorted. _You are never to do that – that – ghost disappearing thing again!_

"But it was effective, no?" Armando couldn't help being proud of himself. "I didn't know I would still be able to do that _–"_

 _In my body?_ _Oh, yes. Very good, effective. You just also effectively scared those pirates right off_! Henry's voice was thick with sarcasm. _Threatening Jack, very smart. Followed by your little disappearing act, it's a wonder they didn't scream and call for a priest._

"It was amazing, wasn't it," Armando responded amiably.

_Completely amazing, now don't do it again._

"Poor baby was frightened?" Armando chuckled.

 _Well, it wasn't the most pleasant of experiences._ Henry's restless frustration squirmed through their shared body. _And what was that, 'Death is coming straight for him'?_

"It is."

_But why would you say that? We want to work with Sparrow, not threaten him!_

"I don't want to work with him." Armando said quietly.

_Well that's too bad, because we have an agreement._

"I could not think of a worse hell than the one I am in. To think that I, Capitán Armando Salazar, am reduced to begging Sparrow to help me. Me! Asking to sail with a filthy, immoral, murderous pirate."

_Oh, must you be so dramatic?_

"Dramatic?" Armando stopped walking. "Dramatic? Sparrow killed me!"

_Not completely –_

"I lost my ship, my crew – I lost everything!" Armando's voice was loud in the deserted streets. "I deserve vengeance!"

 _Get ahold of yourself!_ Henry's voice was loud in his head. _This is your chance to get back everything he took from you – but if you keep going around shouting like a madman they'll come and take us away._

"I _will_ have vengeance." He repeated.

 _I don't care._ Henry sounded weary. _Just please, please can you stick to the plan? Wait until after we get the Trident?_

Armando picked up the pace again as the shadows around them deepened, and the sunset's vivid colours faded in the sky above them.

Walking swiftly in silence for a few minutes, eventually Armando became aware of a skittering sound behind them at intervals – sometimes on the stones, sometimes against the walls. But when he looked, there was nothing. He'd only feel a prickling across his scalp and down his back, the same kind of prickling he used to have whenever a ship would invade the Devil's Triangle.

"There is something strange about this place." He murmured out loud. "Makes my skin tingle."

_You mean my skin._

Armando rolled his eyes. "Of course."

 _We should've stayed with the crew,_ Henry complained again. _Sooner or later Jack would've turned up._

Armando began to stride even faster. "We heard them clearly state they would leave without him if they had to."

_But how will you even know where to find him?_

"He's a pirate." Armando snapped. "He'll be doing what pirates do."

_And what is that?_

"Stealing. Drinking." Armando paused. "Whoring."

_Right…. So what are you planning on doing? You going to burst into a brothel and demand the ladies to tell you where Jack Sparrow is?_

"Is that what you're hoping for?" Armando murmured.

 _I – what? No_! Henry sputtered. _Absolutely not! I - I have no wish to see… naked ladies!_

"It is not always the ladies who are naked in a brothel…" Armando mused. "Perhaps it is the naked men you wish to see?"

_What!_

Armando sensed Henry's descent into speechless indignation, and smiled a little. "And I _would_ start at the brothels," he confided, "Except I fear that your little eyes might pop out of their sockets, Niñito."

_What'd you call me?_

"Never mind." Armando quickly replied.

_You just insulted me didn't you?_

An angry itch started up, rapidly spreading in concert with Henry's annoyance.

"Stop that!" Armando growled as he scratched.

_Well, don't call me names!_

"Niñito is Spanish for friend." Armando lied.

The itch promptly stopped.

_It is?_

"Of course." Armando abruptly changed the subject. "Perhaps we should investigate the drinking establishments first."

Henry sighed. _Must you always talk so formally? You sound so old._

Armando ignored him. "We'll start back at the one we found his crew in. Someone must have seen Sparrow there some time."

And with that, Armando strode back towards Grimes' tavern with renewed speed.

 

* * *

 

"I think it'll be another bottle of rum tonight, my fine fellow," Jack leaned heavily on the bar.

"That'll be two francs." Grimes said.

"Francs?" He patted his pockets down vaguely. "Francs… thought it'd be a shilling. Not a guilder?"

"Two francs," was the staunch reply.

"How about a florin?"

Jack patted down his pockets again, holding out hope something might've changed in the seconds since he last checked.

"Not that I appear to have one of those either…"

Grimes huffed impatiently.

"Don't suppose you'd take a ship in a bottle?" he peered questioningly at the stony faced barman.

"Two. Francs."

"Oh. Well, that's… two too many…"

"Two francs, or you can get out."

Someone slid a leather pouch across the bar.

A BOTTLE OF YOUR FINEST RUM FOR THE CAPTAIN HERE, PLEASE.

Grimes swooped on the bag of coins, opened it, looked once at the payer and then thumped a full bottle of rum and two glasses on the bar before retreating with the sharp words, "You have till curfew."

Jack turned in surprise towards the generous stranger.

"That's – that's right kind of you – "

CONSIDER IT A GIFT.

"Uh… yes." For some reason that he couldn't quite explain, Jack felt strangely discomfited by the stranger's presence. Still, he thought, as he splashed generous amounts into both his and the stranger's glasses, rum was rum, and he was never one to look a mouth in the horse's… gift… gift horses'…. That saying.

NEVER LOOK A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH.

Jack froze with his glass midway to his mouth. Had he spoken out loud? He didn't think he had. But he must've. Mustn't he?

"Have we met before…" he threw a sidelong look at his companion. "Do I know you?"

The stranger seemed to consider for a long moment before answering.

YOU SHOULD. YOU FREQUENTLY MISS OUR SCHEDULED APPOINTMENTS.

A dim warning shivered up his spine as he turned and slowly peered up at the stranger's hooded face, into his eyes.

Or at least, where the eyes ought to have been.

In the shadows of the hood, twin pinpricks of blue light, simultaneously as far away as the faintest constellation, and closer than the rum on his tongue, twinkled back.

Jack shook his head.

Surely he was imagining it.

No one had eyes like that.

Jack took another gulp of rum, and casually asked, "So we _have_ met, then?"

WE HAVE NEARLY MET. MANY, MANY TIMES.

Jack's eyes grew big.

No. He _wasn't_ imagining this.

With a speed rivalling monarchical succession, Jack went from delightful inebriety to complete sobriety.

"Oh?" Jack feigned even more nonchalance as he looked away and splashed more rum into his glass. "That so?"

The stranger watched him with interest.

YES.

"Huh…"

EVEN WITH MY MOST PERSONAL ATTENTIONS, YOU'VE ALWAYS MANAGED TO EVADE ME.

Jack pretended to be looking into his glass; but actually he was mentally calculating the nearest exit and the distance to it. He eyed the bottle of rum regretfully, wondering if he should leave it behind when he made his dash to freedom. It really was quite good rum.

BUT YOU HAVE NO NEED TO WORRY TONIGHT. I AM NOT HERE FOR YOU.

"Oh? Well… that's good news…" Jack hesitated, and then began to creep his fingers across the bar towards the rum bottle anyway.

"So why don't I remember you then?" he stalled.

IT IS A SYMPTOM OF THE HUMAN CONDITION, NEVER TO SEE WHAT IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM – ESPECIALLY IF THEY CAN'T EXPLAIN IT. SELECTIVE VIEWING, I THINK I'VE HEARD IT CALLED.

"Can see you now, though."

I SUSPECT THAT IS A DEVELOPING SYMPTOM OF YOUR PECULIAR CONDITION.

"And what condition is that?"

The stranger considered in silence, as though choosing words carefully.

PERHAPS YOU SHOULD CONSIDER WHAT YOU ARE MISSING FIRST... YOUR SYMPTOMS... SUCH AS YOUR INCREASING IMMUNITY TO HUMAN 'LUCK'.

"Oh I dunno, I've been a pretty lucky bloke."

DO YOU REALLY BELIEVE THAT?

Jack bristled a bit. "Still alive. Still a pirate. If that's not luck, I dunno what is."

OH?

"Yeah… well. Yeah."

TELL ME, WHAT MAKES A PIRATE?

Wrapping his fingers around the rum bottle, Jack stealthily began to draw it closer while looking up at the ceiling as though in thought.

"Well," he began, "The first obvious thing… is a ship."

YES.

Jack paused. "An'… an' they need a crew."

YES?

"An'… they want… no, they need… treasure."

TREASURE?

"Treasure. You know. Something more important to them… than anything else. It's their breath, their life, their… their every thought awake… an' asleep. Absolutely… obsessed with it."

I'M CURIOUS.

"Eh?"

WHAT IS CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW'S TREASURE?

Jack hesitated.

WELL?

"Dunno." He said quickly.

DON'T KNOW OR WON'T SAY?

Jack muttered something under his breath.

WHAT'S THAT?

Suddenly, something vitally important occurred to Jack. "Hang on just a minute. If you aren't here for me… are you actually here for someone else?"

YES. I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT WITH SEVERAL INDIVIDUALS TONIGHT. THOUGH IT IS NOT SURPRISING THAT ONCE AGAIN, YOU ARE HERE TOO.

Jack straightened. "Oh… bugger…"

Death pulled back his hood and turned in the direction of the public square as the Church Bell started ringing for Curfew.

"Alright," Grimes called from behind the bar. "Time's up. Out you get."

Jack continued staring at Death. "It's something big, innit?"

If Death could smile, he would have; though being skeletal, you could never say he was _not_ smiling.

LET'S JUST SAY, IT'S ABOUT TO BECOME A VERY INTERESTING NIGHT.

 

* * *

 

Armando had adamantly insisted on scouting around Grimes' tavern first before going inside – just in case.

 _In case of what?_ Henry had huffed as Armando rolled a heavy rum barrel against the back door, blocking it. _What are you expecting, an ambush? Jack's crew are still at the ship._

"And this is why you're still a boy." Armando muttered, making his way back round to the front of the tavern. "And I am a Capitán. The better part of victory is preparation."

Armando was about to push the front door open, when the Church began to ring its bells.

"What is that?" Armando muttered distractedly.

_Church bells. Now are we going inside or what?_

"No…" Armando studied the shadows. "There's something out there. I can feel it."

Just at that moment, a drunk came stumbling hurriedly out through the front door of the tavern.

"Sorry, mate," he mumbled as he pushed past them. "Got a ship to be on!"

It took Henry and Armando a moment before they realised simultaneously who it was.

_That's him!_

"Sparrow!"

They took off after him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATION:  
> Niñito - little boy
> 
> OTHER NOTES:  
> St Martin is a multi-national island; hence Jack was not entirely crazy - well, no more than usual - to be offering British, Dutch and Italian currency to pay for his rum; it just so happens that our barkeep Mr Grimes was insistent on the French currency, possibly based on the day of the week. Or perhaps because he just wanted to close up. It was getting close to curfew, after all...
> 
>  
> 
> *'…with a speed rivalling monarchical succession':
> 
> 'The only thing known to go faster than ordinary light is monarchy, according to the philosopher Ly Tin Wheedle. He reasoned like this: you can't have more than one king, and tradition demands that there is no gap between kings, so when a king dies the succession must therefore pass to the heir instantaneously…' from 'Mort', by Terry Pratchett


	14. Carina Is Rescued From The Stocks

Carina looked about her with growing unease, and tried to work faster at the lock.

She’d been inordinately grateful to Mr. Onslow – and completely surprised – when he’d pressed the lock pick and the timepiece into her hand earlier that afternoon, right there in her cell.

It just was not the sort of thing she imagined a gentleman like him would even think to do. But whatever drove him to do it, she was grateful.

It had been with thudding heart and hitched breath that she’d managed to slip them both into her skirt pocket without anyone – especially Scarfield – seeing. She wasn’t precisely sure why Mr Onslow had given her a timepiece, but she supposed he meant for her to barter her way off of the island somehow with it. Although, if it was a reasonably well-made piece, she knew it could prove useful in other more practical ways – if she ever got out of these stocks and was able to study it at length under better light.

She leaned over the rough wooden stocks with renewed effort, twisting the pick this way and that, trying to work it by feel alone in the dim light. She estimated the flickering lantern the soldiers had left for her would expire in approximately forty minutes. Which would mean at least one hour of utter darkness until the moon cleared the rooftops. Anticipating the pitch black filled her with irrational unease.

She had to work fast.

She almost regretted her stubborn resolution to reject Scarfield. Almost. She detested the idea of ‘confessing’ to the hideous man in his ‘private’ rooms, but she wondered if sometimes the evil you knew really was better than the one you didn’t. At least ‘confessing’ to Scarfield… she might’ve had a better chance of distracting him, and therefore escaping.

But – too late now.

She shivered and tried to hunch further over the stocks, hugging her knees to her chest as her chilled fingers fumbled the pick around inside the lock.

The square was ominously silent, and she tried to ignore the feeling – silly, really, but she just couldn’t shake it – that someone was watching her. Or, rather, _something_. Watching her from the shadows.

For the hundredth time she rubbed at her ankles with her free hand, trying to ease the pressure around them. She was sure if she didn’t get out soon her feet would be blue, the stocks were so tight. She heard a skittering sound to her left and nearly dropped the pick in fright, but could see nothing.

All she could make out was the vague outline of buildings; dark, lifeless windows; and inky blackness around the edges of the lantern’s weak light.

With one last desperate effort, the old lock came apart.

Carina instantly lifted the heavy stocks up enough to drag her stiff ankles through, and quickly rubbed the life back into them, looking around the square in fear.

The same skittering sound came again, closer and to her right this time. She still couldn’t see anything, but she knew, whatever it was, it was real and not her imagination.

She stood awkwardly on her sore feet, trying to see beyond the edge of the lantern’s light.

And then, without warning, the lantern tumbled on its side, flickered and went out.

Fear gripped her unlike any she’d ever known before.

The pick slipped from her fingers.

Time stretched abnormally about her, and she had the sudden awful feeling of slow-drowning in thick liquid black. And then she felt it, the _thing_ , drawing itself up out of that liquid black, _right behind her_ , cold and remote, like some ancient and terrible creature that should only exist in fairytales.

She could feel it whispering around her head, endless litanies of soothing words… telling her to _sssleep, sssleep, forget, sssssleep…_

Suddenly broken by the sound of someone tripping awkwardly over the lantern.

“Whassis… bloody – hell!”

The _thing_ stopped its whispering.

“¡Estúpido!” Exclaimed a second voice in a thick Spanish accent. 

More clanking and banging echoed loudly in the empty square, and inexplicably Carina was sure she could feel the _thing_ retreat.

And then, the same Spanish accent, “Sparrow.”

“Eh? Who’s that, then?” It was the first voice again. “Show yerself, yer scurvy bugger!”

“We would, Sparrow, but you seem to lack the ability to see in the dark.” Came the rich Spanish voice, dripping with hostility.

Carina felt, listening to it, as though she were waking from a heavy sleep.

“Hang on… I think…” More sounds, another rattle, and a grunt. “’S a lantern… I think I’ve got…”

And then with a bright flare that made Carina wince, the lantern was relit.

The _thing_ behind her hissed from far away, and then it was gone.

The relief that washed through Carina’s entire body made her feel like she was almost floating now in a dream, and she savoured the reprieve for a moment before turning her eyes on the two unlikely heroes before her.

One of the men swayed unsteadily as he held up the lantern with a victorious grin. “Did it!”

The other man didn’t even see Carina, so focused was he on the grinning man with the lantern.

“Sparrow!” the other man hissed.

“Heard of me, ‘ave you?”

Jack Sparrow’s grin faded as a dagger was instantly pressed to his throat.

Carina wanted to cry out, wanted to run, but the heavy paralysis that had infected her was slow to leave.

“La Muerte ahora ha venido.”

“Uh – hang on there mate…” Jack frowned. “But… do I know you?”

“He esperado este dia por mucho tiempo!” The young man pressed the dagger even more firmly against Jack’s neck, until a thin line of red showed. “Sparrow merece morir!”

“Well, I’m flattered you know me,” Sparrow’s gold teeth glinted as his eyes darkened dangerously, “But d’yer really wanna kill me?”

Carina tried to speak, but it was as though her entire body had been invisibly swaddled in thick heavy reams of cloth. She pushed hard to move.

“I don’t care, Niñito!” the young man was shaking his head as though trying to clear it. “I don’t care what we agreed!”

“Uh –” Jack stared, puzzled. “You right there, mate?”

The young man drew in his breath sharply, stumbling back and doubling over as if in great pain. “Do your worst!”

Jack tilted his chin. “Well, if you say so.”

Jack drew his sword and pointed it at the young man, who straightened stiffly, gripping the dagger tightly in his fist.

Carina desperately tried to speak again, this time managing to make a small sound in the depths of her throat.

Both men turned and stared.

“I’m – s – s –” She tried.

Carina met the intense stare of the young man as she struggled to speak.

For one pure, unadulterated moment, Carina was sure his eyes glowed amber as they met hers, but then she blinked and saw they were only dark eyes.

With one last effort, she forced the awful heavy feeling off her limbs, and found herself finally able to move.

She raised a shaking hand up to her head. “I’m s-sorry… to interrupt…”

“¿Quién es la mujer ángel?” The young man whispered.

Carina had no time to even begin to guess at what he’d said, because her legs rudely started to wobble, and then the ground helpfully assisted by spinning out from under her feet.

She pitched forward, barely caught from a hard acquaintance with the stones by two surprisingly strong arms.

Carina looked up into fiery eyes.

“¿Quién eres tú?”

In a delirium, Carina reached up.

“Like a sunrise.” She murmured, the fiery eyes flared even more brightly as her fingertips brushed the young man’s cheeks. “Who are you?”

“Armando.” The young man whispered.

“What? What was that?” Jack squinted. “Who’d you say you were?”

“My saviour… ” Carina breathed, before promptly passing out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> La Muerte ahora ha venido - Death has now come
> 
> He esperado este dia por mucho tiempo! – I have waited for this day for too long!
> 
> Niñito – Little Boy
> 
> Sparrow merece morir – Sparrow deserves to die
> 
> ¿Quien es la mujer ángel? – Who is the beautiful angel?
> 
> ¿Quién eres tú? – Who are you?


	15. The Witches of St Martin

There was something hot against Carina's cheek. For a brief moment, she had a strange sense of belonging, such as she only felt in her oldest memories. She breathed in contentedly, the smell of musk and sea-salt filling her mouth as she did.

She was being held against someone's chest.

She was being carried!

Her eyes flew open.

It was the young man who'd caught her – the one who'd said his name was Armando.

He looked down in concern, and a soft smile lit his face.

"Mi Ángel, awake at last."

Carina felt herself blushing.

"Set me down this instant!"

She struggled against the rigid arms.

"Por favor, but you fainted." Came the amused reply, with no hint of complying with her request.

"Well I am conscious now, and perfectly capable of walking!"

"I beg to differ, Señorita."

Carina stopped struggling and tried reason. "If you would just be so kind as to set me down, sir, I would be most grateful."

Armando cocked his head sideways, as though listening to something she could not hear, but then he shook his head. "I disagree, Niñito. The lady has no shoes."

"He's right, you know." The man called Sparrow strode along beside them, swinging the lantern merrily. "Best thing really, being carried. Dragging you would've slowed us down considerably."

" _No one_ is dragging the lady," came the growled response.

"Just sayin' mate. I mean, you're the one insisted she come with us."

"Only to see her safely to her home." Carina felt Armando's arms tighten around her. "And we've given you gold coin enough for it."

"Aye," Sparrow looked slyly at them. "That you did. Though," He pretended to be thinking, "I can't speak for the rest of m'crew, especially after they find out you tried to kill me."

Armando stopped.

Carina saw the look in his eyes and instantly feared for Sparrow's life.

Jack pretended he didn't see the look of intense hatred, and carried on walking ahead a few paces.

"Just sayin' mate," he called over his shoulder, "It might cost you a bit more, if you want me to keep my mouth shut…"

Carina found herself being carefully set down on her feet.

"Sparrow."

Jack swayed in a circle and turned back to look at them.

"Come along, come along, children." His teeth glinted in the lantern light. "There's time aplenty to negotiate such trivial things, once we're aboard my ship."

Armando held Carina against him with one arm, before coolly addressing Sparrow, the dagger already in his other hand.

"You wish to negotiate?" he asked.

 

* * *

 

Scarfield traced the edges of the journal.

It was well past sunset.

And the stubborn Miss Smyth had not requested to leave the stocks, nor had his men sent word of her capitulation. It had surprised him. He'd expected to see her: his mind's eye presenting her dishevelled and tear-stained, as she'd finally been brought back, deeply chastised, into his rooms. He _had_ offered her an alternative... if she'd only been willing to translate the old Italian.

Well, perhaps it was for the best.

He'd found thoughts of Miss Smyth consistently intruding in the hours since, and he wasn't sure he liked it. The memory of her hair, the blue of her eyes, the image of her fingers tightening around the hard bars of her cell... yes, perhaps it was for the best that she had chosen her own fate. Still, it was a pity, that Miss Smyth had refused to keep him company in his rooms tonight. He _was_ in the mood to celebrate.

He shook his head as he opened up the pages again, clearing her from his mind. It was still incredible to him, that he held the actual journal of Galileo. One could never predict the course one's life would run, he mused.

An ironic smile curved his lips.

He had been so dissatisfied to be assigned a post here, on St Martin; he'd despised this mud-filled backwater, and loathed the very people that lived here.

Stuck between the Dutch and the French to provide a British presence here at the Mayor's request, he had gritted his teeth but accepted the post on the orders of his so-called betters.

The Mayor had such grand ideas of providing a peaceful, cosmopolitan society, free from the political turpitude plaguing the rest of the world. As if such a thing could ever be a reality!

And were it not for the Mayor's desire to provide a British presence, Scarfield could've been achieving victorious glory in Africa, or commanding respect captaining a navy ship against the Spanish, or, indeed, _anything_ else – but far, far from this inferior island, accomplishing a name and fine reputation for himself.

And now, ironically, in this stinking, mud-filled hole, he had found something that would achieve all of his ambitions in one fell swoop.

He had the journal of Galileo Galilei; and it contained the actual, physical location of the Trident of Poseidon.

In just a few hours, under the light of the Blood Moon, Scarfield would be the one to uncover its whereabouts, for the glory of the British Crown. And, of course, he would be forever famed as its discoverer.

Scarfield's self-congratulatory musings were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in."

"Uh, Lieutenant? There's a… a woman… here to see you?"

Scarfield paused. "Who is it?"

The officer looked confused. "Uh – she's got a hood on…"

"She didn't give a name?"

"She says..." The officer lowered his voice. "She says she knows who the Witch of St Martin is."

Scarfield stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"She says she knows who it is, the one who's been doing all them murders, sir. Insists she will share it, but only with you, sir."

Scarfield hesitated again.

It had never occurred to him that anyone would actually know the identity of the murderer. In fact he had never expected anyone to know at all. Especially given the savage violence of the crimes. But the thought that someone would come to _him_ to tell their secret knowledge...

"Well, of course she’ll only speak with me," Scarfield smiled. "Bring her in."

The Officer nodded and disappeared.

Scarfield stood with the journal, and crossed to the painting opposite his desk.

When the lady entered, cloaked and hooded, he turned his back to her.

"Please," he said over his shoulder. "Come. Sit."

It wouldn't do to show too much eagerness, he thought, as he reached for the decanter.

"I've been told you have... pertinent information."

He poured himself a generous finger of brandy.

"And I must say, you've made a wise choice in coming to me..."

He turned finally to look at her, just as she dropped the hood from her head.

Scarfield froze.

The brandy glass slipped from his fingers, smashing into several wet fragments on the floor.

_Ssscarfield…_

The thing's hiss slid directly into his skull, like the way his shoes would slide on thick rotting leaves under a grey tree in autumn.

Through Scarfield's door, there came the desperate screams of several of his men, followed by an awful wet crunching sound, like dogs slobbering over a tasty bone.

But all of that paled in comparison to the irrational fear that rooted him to the floor as he looked upon the chillingly recognisable visage of the Mayor's wife.

"M-m-mrs. Dix…" he stuttered.

_Ssscarfield…_

Where her eyes should've been, Frances had nothing but gaping black holes.

_I am hungry, Ssscarfield..._

A second cloaked figure materialised in Scarfield's study, hood already thrown back, croaking her words into his brain like a slimy toad being sucked down into the mud at the bottom of a pond.

_The tasssties, Sisster, hasss he told you where the tassties are?_

Scarfield started back in horror as he recognised the distorted face. "Mrs Besançon!"

And then a third, throwing back her hood to reveal the hollow-eyed stare of Mrs Onslow.

 _I wanted the deliciousss orphan girl…_ Mrs Onslow's words stabbed bluntly, a brittle lifeless twig being rammed in through his ear, leaving pieces behind. _My husssband said not to eat her, but she looked sssoooo tasty…_

 _Sisstersss, I went to the hossspital…_ Mrs Besançon started to close in _. I wanted the tasssty young Sssailor all to myssself… but he wasss gone…_

 _Sissterss, I went to the stocksss…_ Mrs Onslow closed in on Scarfield's other side. _I wanted the deliciousss Orphan girl… but the tasssty young Sssailor took her away, and I could not follow…_

 _Sisstersss,_ Frances smiled. _Ssscarfield alwaysss leavesss out tassstiess to eat... alwaysss leavesss the onesss no one elsse wantsss… but tonight, we will tassste him… it iss him we will eat…_

 _Yesssssssss_ , they hissed, their jaws dropping open in anticipation. _Yesssssssss._

Scarfield screamed.

 

 

 


	16. Carina Offers To Help

" _Come along, come along, children." His teeth glinted in the lantern light. "There's time aplenty to negotiate such trivial things, once we're aboard my ship."_

_Armando held Carina against him with one arm, before coolly addressing Sparrow, the dagger already in his other hand._

" _You wish to negotiate?" he asked._

 

* * *

 

 Jack's amused eyes slid to the dagger than up once more to Armando's face.

"Tell me, mate." He grinned at the Spaniard. "Just what is it you got against me, eh?"

Armando tilted his head as though listening. "I _long_ to tell you, pirate." He shook his head suddenly, as though to clear it. "But now is not the time."

"Actually," Jack tapped the ground with the tip of his sword. "I think I got time mate. Why don't you tell me?" Jack suddenly frowned. "You know, you _do_ look familiar. Have I threatened you before?"

"Um, excuse me." Carina cleared her throat delicately. "Sorry to interrupt," Carina tried unsuccessfully to pry herself out of Armando's steely grip. "I don't know who you two are –"

"Armando." The young man's mouth pressed firmly closed, and he did not elaborate further.

"The Great –" Jack whirled his sword in an overdone flourish, before striking a debonair pose with both it and the lantern. "Captain… Jack… Sparrow."

Carina wasn't sure if she'd ever met two men more opposed in personality than these two, but decided now _wasn't_ the time for an analysis of their characters.

"Yes. Well. Um –"

Armando tilted his head at her, his dagger still pointed towards Jack.

"Perdón, Señorita... this is not a usual introduction, but," he looked apologetic, "Perhaps you might tell me who _you_ are, mi Ángel?" He flashed a look of loathing towards Jack, "Before I gut this worthless pirate."

"Will you stop calling me –" She straightened. "My name is none of your concern."

"Uh, sorry to interrupt, but it's very much _my_ concern." Jack swayed closer. "Because if you are going to be sailing on my ship as well –"

Armando growled. "The lady will _not_ be sailing with pirate scum –"

"– on this ill-advised adventure, I believe it is very much the etiquette to introduce one's self–"

"Thank you," Carina interrupted hastily. "Er – Armando… Jack,"

" _Captain_ Jack."

"Yes, well thank you for – for saving me." She tried once more to loosen Armando's hold from around her waist, but to no avail. "I must beg you to release me, sir, because I really must be going, I have – I have things to do. And then you can – carry on killing one another!"

Armando turned to her. "And where does mi Ángel need to be, that she runs off in such haste?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Jack grinned. "She's obviously got a bloke waitin' for her at home…"

Armando's gaze darkened. "Do you?"

Carina blushed hotly.

"A beautiful wench like her? Absolutely." Jack nodded wisely.

"I do not!" Carina snapped.

"Then perhaps," Armando's hand seemed to be burning into her side as he drew her in even closer, "You need not be in a hurry to leave my protection."

"I have no need of your protection! Or anyone's protection!" Carina started to shove at him. "Now let – _go_ – of me!"

"Señorita," Armando was firm. "This is not a safe place. You are better off with me." He drew in a frustrated breath. "I must – _yes_ , Niñito! – I will _negotiate_ with this –" he sent a fierce glare at Jack, "Pirate, and then I will personally escort you safely to your home."

"Well, I dunno." Jack waved his sword casually. "Maybe the details of our negotiation need to be revisited."

Carina looked between them. "Revisited?" 

"Perdón, Señorita. I... 'negotiated' while you were unconscious." Armando's expression turned to one of the utmost disgust. "With Sparrow. To spare his life, in exchange for safe passage aboard his ship."

"Really?" Jack raised his eyebrows. "That's funny, cos I seem to recall you were having trouble killing me as it was."

Armando tilted his head back. "You wish for me to try again?"

Jack raised his sword and grinned. "Come on then, mate."

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Carina wrenched herself out of Armando's tight grip and pushed herself between them. "Just stop it, the both of you!"

"Unless you can't." Jack grinned madly at Armando, apparently ignoring Carina. "After all, I _am_ the Great Captain Jack Sparrow."

Armando, enraged, pushed against Carina, growling murderously at Jack, apparently set on proving a second and far more successful attempt at plunging his dagger into the pirate.

"Now look here!" Carina shouted, pressing Armando back. "Will you both _stop_!" She pointed in Jack's face. "You – stop goading him!" Then she turned and pointed in Armando's face. "And you… you can…"

She faltered as he looked down into her face. "Just… calm down."

"That is a right bad temper you got there, mate." Jack feigned casualness, swinging his sword experimentally around as though for the sheer fun of it. "Might wanna watch that."

Armando lifted his eyes from Carina's face to Jack's, and slowly lowered his dagger. "You are lucky Sparrow, that I am a man of honour, and that I made an agreement to spare your life."

"Yeah mate, an agreement." Jack's look turned sly. "With a pirate."

The dagger was up again. "I will enjoy cutting that look off of your face!"

"Stop!" Carina pushed both her hands against Armando's chest in an effort to keep him back.

"The time will come, Sparrow," Armando promised, "When your luck will run out, and Death will already be waiting. For you."

"'Fraid my luck's been gone for years, mate." Jack said quietly. "And Death has come and gone already tonight."

Shaking her head at Jack's strange words, Carina kept her hands firmly holding Armando back and turned to address Jack over her shoulder.

"You. Captain Jack. You said you have a ship." Carina couldn't help being a little distrustful. "Would that ship be – ready to set sail?"

"Aye." Jack nodded determinedly. "Pretty boy here –"

"We – I am _not_ a boy!" Armando snapped.

Carina sighed.

"Right." Jack winked. "But you _are_ pretty."

Armando sputtered indignantly, but Jack talked smoothly on.

" _Armando_ here spun a _pretty_ story about needing my ship and my expertise, and gave me some _very_ pretty gold to be on my ship if it sails tonight… but, now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not entirely convinced yet that I should let him aboard."

"So. The pirate wishes for more gold." Armando said, a feral gleam in his eye. "Even though his pockets are already full."

"There's always room for more, mate." Jack grinned.

"There will be." Armando flashed the dagger at him. "After I make you some new pockets. In your chest."

"Oh my _god_ , will you two –" Carina interjected, turning sideways to keep the two men apart.

"Now see here, mate," Jack held his sword up, "Don't go getting snarky, cos you need me."

" _I_ do not need you…" Armando only growled, "But… _we_ … need what you know."

"We?" Carina twisted to look up at him. "What do you mean, we?"

Jack grinned slyly. "You need me to show you where the Trident of Poseidon is."

Carina went pale. "The Trident – of Poseidon?"

Jack paused. "Uh... yeah?"

"You're looking for the Trident of Poseidon?" Carina was still stunned.

"Isn't that what I said?"

Carina looked between Armando and Jack. "Both of you?"

"What's the matter?" Jack frowned. "Is she deaf?"

"We are, mi Ángel." Armando answered, ignoring Jack. "We intend to set sail for it tonight."

Thinking fast, Carina asked, "And how will you find it without a map?"

"The Sparrow has found it before." Armando said firmly.

Carina turned surprised eyes on Jack. "Really? Is that true?"

"Well," Jack shrugged mock-humbly, "Tis a little known fact, and not one I like to boast about…" He eyed Armando. "But what I want to know, is how did _you_ know?"

"I have it on the word of someone I – trust." Armando looked uncomfortable.

"Do you now." Jack's eyes glittered in a mix of suspicion and inquisitiveness.

"So can you find it?" Carina looked at Jack speculatively.

"Maybe." Jack equivocated. "But I might need to renegotiate the price."

Armando growled again.

"There's no need to give him any more gold." Carina said with authority. "You won't need him to show you where it is, because there's a map."

"¿Perdón?" Armando blinked. "A map?"

"A map that shows where the Trident of Poseidon is."

"Niñito, this is the same map you spoke of –?" Armando murmured, staring at Carina.

Jack scoffed. "There is no map."

"There _is_ a map." Carina asserted calmly.

"Well, yes," Jack shrugged, "But it is a map that no man can read."

Carina arched an eyebrow. "I am not precisely a man."

Armando smiled. "No, you most certainly are not, mi Ángel."

Carina blushed and dropped her gaze suddenly, and realised she currently had a hand still splayed across his chest. His very warm chest. That she could see through a half-open shirt.

She glanced up again involuntarily.

Dark brown eyes were still staring down at her heatedly.

"Uh." Carina removed her hand hastily, before clearing her throat. "Yes. Well, _I_ want to negotiate. You let me sail with you, and I'll help you find the Trident of Poseidon."

"So, you have this map, eh?" Jack squinted at her.

"Um." Carina hesitated. "No. Not exactly. But I know where it is."

At once, Armando sheathed his dagger, but remained close.

"Then we will go get it." He locked eyes with Jack. "All of us. Together."

He rested his dagger hand against the leather pouch he wore, letting the unmistakeable sound of gold within clink loud enough to hear.

Jack paused again, before suddenly swaying away a few steps. "Whatever. This is, as they say, your party."

"Lead the way, mi Ángel."

Carina sighed. "Carina."

"¿Perdón?"

"My name's Carina."

She avoided looking at him, but she could see out of the corner of her eye his lips moving, as he murmured to himself, "Carina."

It was entirely and utterly unfair, the way her name sounded in his rich Spanish accent. She felt a traitorous and alarming thrill up her spine, and lifted her chin in defiance.

"Yes." She snapped with more force than necessary. "So you can stop calling me – whatever it is you've been saying, and just call me Carina."

"Sí, Carina."

He said her name like he was tasting something delicious.

Carina swallowed.

This just wouldn't do.

"Or preferably, Miss Smyth." She said, in her iciest tones. "And, if you prefer, I can call you by –"

"Armando."

His eyes flared amber again – but it was only for a moment, and then they were back to their previous warm chocolate colour, and she knew she must be seeing things. She frowned. She _had_ to be.

He, on the other hand, seemed to be trying not to smile.

"Very well then," she pressed her lips together.

"Then lead the way – Miss Smyth."

She could've sworn he deliberately lingered on her name this time, in a low and purposefully sultry fashion that was – entirely inappropriate. She felt her cheeks betray her again, and began to stride ahead to where Jack was still waiting, an amused expression on his face.

"Alright there, love?" Jack grinned.

"Bloody Spaniards," she muttered under her breath.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> Jack and Armando make reference to events in the book 'Jack Sparrow: Bold New Horizons'. While he was still a teenager Jack was presented with the Trident of Poseidon by the Merfolk, but declined it, choosing to give it to one of the Mermen instead.  
> (See Chapter 4 Notes as well if interested)


	17. The Oneiroi

White was the colour Scarfield always imagined he would see when he died.

_Sisterssss, let usss eat the juic-y innardsssss firssssst._

White was the colour of angel's wings, sweeping down.

_No, let ussss eat hissss heart._

White was the colour of ethereal arms lifting him up.

_Hissss face…_

White was the colour of soft, fluffy clouds; the colour of the pearly gates; the colour of complete and utter bliss.

_Hissss eyessssss…._

Scarfield longed to see White.

_Deliciousssssss…_

But all he saw was Red.

But not red, the colour of rage.

But  _Red_ , the colour of panic. The colour of paralysis. The colour of his own blood pooling under his mouth as he lay face down on the wooden floorboards of his study. The colour of Hell.

Because in truth, it is the colour Red that is White's true opposite – not black, as some would suppose.

He felt them tearing at his clothes, jerking his body about like a rag doll, while they snarled again over which part to eat.

 _It isss my turn to choose!_ Mrs Onslow hissed.

 _No, I sssay what we eat firssst!_ Mrs Dix yanked Mrs Onslow's hands from off of Scarfield.

 _Sissterssss,_  Mrs Besançon whined.  _It doessss not matter…_

Scarfield fought against the paralysis that held him under their cold gnarled fingers.

_Who sssaysss you decide thisss time?_

_Ssscarfield isss mine!_

The creatures began to shove one another, knocking the heavy desk several inches in their clamour. The candles guttering in their holders on Scarfield's desk tipped, putting two of them out – but one continued to flicker and burn after it fell, rolling sideways across the floor.

Slowly Scarfield started to feel the oppressive pall of paralysis lift from him, inch by inch, while the wretched creatures fought.

If he was not destined to see White tonight, then by God he was going to fight the Red.

Scarfield began to scrape his fingers towards where his sword lay, still sheathed, pressed between his leg and the floorboards, while the things snarled and whined and clawed one another.

Nearby, the papers strewn about the floor and against the walls smouldered from the heat of the naked candle flame, before suddenly catching alight.

 

* * *

 

"Is that a…?" Jack squinted.

Armando surveyed the growing light. "The town's on fire." He put a hand on Carina's arm. "We should find another way."

But Carina was staring in growing horror.

The flickering flames of a raging fire could now be clearly seen, and they were exactly in the direction of the prison – and Scarfield's headquarters.

She drew a sharp breath in.

Somewhere, someone began to clang a bell, amidst shouts of "FIRE! FIRE!" and the sounds of stamping feet and more cries.

"My journal!"

Carina wrested her arm out of Armando's grip and ran.

 

* * *

 

_Rebelliouss Sisstersss! You musst obey me!_

Mrs Dix stood astride Scarfield's body in the smoke-filled room, hissing angrily at the others. 

 _We have lissstened to you for too long!_ Mrs Onslow shrieked back at her. _Alwayss ssaying we musst hide, musst pretend, until we are sso hungry it hurtsss_ _!_

 _Enough with your whining!_ Mrs Dix's cry was piercing. _Tonight you have been allowed to feasst! But I am above you, and Sscarfield is mine!_

Scarfield waited until he could hear Mrs. Dix just above him, bending down over him, before flipping himself with all the strength he had left and thrusting his sword through her gut.

She screamed.

Scarfield pushed her off of his blade with his boot, and got unsteadily to his feet.

Mrs. Dix writhed and hissed on the floor, her wound oozing black.

He raised his sword over his head and sliced it down.

The hag shrieked, and the sword met nothing but empty floorboards.

She'd disappeared.

Confused and disoriented, Scarfield pulled his sword out of the floorboards and looked around.

Mrs Besancon and Mrs Onslow still stood there with their hollow eyes, gaping their stained mouths at Scarfield. He could not tell if they were shocked by him. They could've been delighted for all he knew.

They came closer.

"Stay back!" he shouted, but his voice sounded strange to his ears.

_Our sissster isss fallen…_

Mrs Onslow raised a gnarled finger.

_He isss ssstrong…_

Time stretched abnormally about him.

_Ssstronger than our sissster…_

They seemed to move impossibly fast, from several feet away to being right in front of him, moving with the speed of nightmares…

_Our sissster hasss fled…_

_Let him take our sssissster'sss place…_

… a feeling like black ice and half-frozen mud enveloped him as they pressed their cold, wet mouths against his, stroking his hair with their claws.

_Take our sssissster'sss place…_

_Yesss…_

_Let him be born anew…_

_Let him be one of usss…_

_Yesss!_

He could feel them whispering around his head, endless litanies of soothing words as the room around them steadily burned…

Telling him,  _Welcome… Welcome, New Brother_.

 

* * *

 

The barracks  _were_ on fire.

Townspeople were everywhere, shouting for buckets of water, the noise a constant barrage, like locusts on a hot summer's night.

Carina darted in amongst them, not stopping to think of anything else but her journal.

Armando was there again, a strong arm around her waist, hauling her back. "You cannot go in there. You will die!"

"Let me go!" She spun and slammed both hands against that annoying chest.

"Now I hate to say it," Jack began, halting awkwardly next to Armando, "But he's right. You can't run in there."

"I have to!" She tried to pull away. "Please!"

Jack stepped closer, eyes wide. "But it's bloody well on fire!"

Armando shook his head, his hands firmly on her shoulders. "It is too dangerous."

"I have to get the map!" She shouted over the noise of the fire and the people around them. "It's in there!"

"It is not worth it, Carina." Armando spoke intensely, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on her lips. "Let the map go. Sparrow can find the Trident."

Carina froze in a moment of indecision. And then she hit him in the jaw.

It was like hitting a stone wall.

" _Ow_."

She massaged her bruised knuckles.

He smiled in amusement, and for an instant his hold on her loosened.

It was all Carina needed.

She shoved him back, hard, and turned and ran through the courtyard, through the doors and up the smoky stairs.

"Carina!" Armando cried.

"Oh bugger." Jack stared after her. "Gonna have to do something about that, aren't we?"

 

* * *

 

Carina stopped at the threshold of Scarfield's study.

The room was empty.

It was also on fire.

She hung back for one brief moment, fearful of going in.

But she knew she had to.

Clapping a hand to her mouth against the smoke, she stepped towards the smouldering desk.

The shattered remains of a glass were scattered across the floor.

A dark stain congealed on the hot floor boards.

Carina took care to tread around the mess in her bare feet, trying not to let the rising panic overwhelm her.

Get the journal and get out, she told herself firmly. That's all you have to do.

She tried to ignore the sound of the fire's flames as they crackled up the walls of the study. She ignored the stifling heat. The smell of bitter smoke. The sound of the window-panes creaking.

She kept her mouth firmly covered as she reached the still smoking desk, and began to open the drawers hurriedly, rifling through the contents for her journal.

"So." Scarfield closed the door behind him. "The little whore has come back."

Carina froze, her blue eyes wide in fear as he approached.

"Looking for the journal?"

In the glowing light from the fire, Carina could see he was injured  – and his wounds were the stuff of nightmares.

Scarfield's uniform was shredded, as though some wild thing had slashed through it, leaving long bloody stripes across his legs and torso. He limped a little, dragging his sword across the floor carelessly in a bloodsoaked hand.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Because as Scarfield approached, she saw he was missing a chunk out of his cheek. She could even see the whites of his teeth protruding through the torn and bloodied flesh.

"I  _was…_ going to kill you… for a witch." Blood dribbled from between his lips, and he made an awful sucking sound every few words. "But that… would be a waste."

He lifted his sword.

Carina backed up against the creaking windows.

"I think..." he sucked in the blood through his gaping cheek, "I'd rather see you… in your proper place."

His eyes were so dark, they almost looked like holes in his face – empty holes where his eyes should've been.

"As my own...  _persssonal_...  _whore_."

The doors burst open behind Scarfield, and before he could even turn, he was sent crashing into the burning wall, where he slid down, collapsing on the floor.

Carina lifted her eyes from Scarfield's still body back to her saviour, and never in any single moment of her life could she ever recall feeling so simultaneously grateful and deeply attracted to  _anyone_  - let alone a man she'd only just met.

"Mi Ángel," Armando held his hand out. "I told you it was dangerous! Now come, quickly!"

Jack swayed in the doorway behind Armando.

"Right then." He looked at the unconscious body of Scarfield. "Dead, is he?"

Armando considered the limp body. "He could be." He tilted his head, once again listening to something only he could hear. "But alas." He turned his eyes grudgingly away. "My … little conscience tells me not to."

Jack eyed the flames flickering around them. "Well, charming as this all is, let's be off!"

Carina seemed to blush and shake herself out of her reverie, dragging her eyes away from Armando. "Not before I find my journal!"

She searched through the drawers on Scarfield's desk. There was nothing.

"Bugger the journal!" Jack begged. "We have no time."

"I have to find it!" Carina snapped.

"You must come with me!" Armando strode towards her as she flung papers left and right in her haste. "Sparrow –" he visibly swallowed as though the name tasted sour, "Has promised us safe passage, but we still must reach the ship before –"

"Go, if you have to!" She cried over her shoulder, running to search the shelves, "But I cannot leave without it."

"Is it more important than our lives?" Armando tried to reason. "Than yours?"

She looked at him, torn.

Then her eyes widened, as she looked at something over his shoulder.

She rushed to a painting on the far wall.

Confused, he watched as she pulled it off and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor, to reveal a hidden cabinet in the wall. Pressing on it, the cabinet sprung open, to reveal several items, including a leather bound book.

"My journal!" She hugged it close to her chest.

"How did you know it was there?" He asked.

"Simple," she stated. "The painting was crooked." She looked in distaste at the body of Scarfield. "And he's the kind of man who hates for things to be  _out of place_."

"Come on!" Jack grabbed her by the elbow and began to pull her from the burning room. "Let's go!"

The trio fled, leaving Scarfield behind.

 

* * *

 

"Frances?" Mayor Dix held the candelabra up and peered into the darkened sitting room. "Is that you? Where have you been?"

She stood there with her back to him, shoulders hunched, hair a wild mess, the hem of her dress soaked in something black and wet.

"Frances!"

He stepped towards her and then stopped. There was a strange smell in the room, like smoke and something faintly metallic…

"Frances, I've been worried!" He said louder. "There's a fire in town and when I came upstairs to tell you, I couldn't find you anywhere…"

She turned slowly to her husband.

He stared, horrified.

Blood was around her lips. Smeared down her chin. In her hair. And a horrible black oozing wound stained her dress.

"Oh, my love, what have you done?"

She laughed, red lumps of flesh showing in her teeth.

_I've been eating, hussband._

She reached out a hand.

With horror, he saw her hand was the hand of an old crone, gnarled and mottled.

"F-Frances?"

 _Ssscarfield tried to kill me,_ she hissed,  _he tried to kill me, and now I'm hungrier than ever..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> For those of you interested, I just wanted to add a little more on our terrible 'things': Mrs Dix, Mrs Besançon and Mrs Onslow.
> 
> According to Ovid's Metamorphoses, the Oneiroi (or Oneiri) were the name given to the many sons (or in this case, daughters) of Hypnos, the god of sleep.
> 
> Hypnos was said to live in a cave in the underworld, and from this cave came the River Lethe, whose waters had the power to make one forget everything.
> 
> For this story, I re-imagined the children of Hypnos as terrible creatures who are able to pass as human in the sunlight, but on the nights of a full moon (just like werewolves) they absolutely must return to their real forms and are driven to feed - especially if they are forcing themselves to remain in human form (like our St Martin ladies are) the rest of the time, and therefore are not meeting their 'dietary requirements' regularly.
> 
> I created similar abilities between them: such as the ability to hypnotise, the ability to mentally and physically paralyse (similar to the heavy feeling you get when you fall asleep), and the ability to devour the life force of their victims by literally eating it out of them as the victim is paralysed.
> 
> They also have other abilities/characteristics, like stealing memories, sending nightmares, and living for a Very Long Time, which unfortunately I did not have time to pursue more in this fic. Pacing reasons and such : )
> 
> The idea for describing what the colour white might have meant to Scarfield was inspired by Stephen King's 'Duma Key': 'We call it White because we need a word, but its true name is nothing. Black is the absence of light, but white is the absence of memory, the colour of can't remember… you have to mark the white.' Please read 'Duma Key', Stephen King is a master of originality; which, sadly I am still not.


	18. Aboard The Dying Gull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, don’t try to fight someone with ghost powers. Like, say… Capitán Armando Salazar in Henry Turner’s body…

As Jack climbed the rickety ladders aboard the Dying Gull, Master Gibbs leant over the side.

"Jack!" He reached out an arm and helped his Captain onto the deck. "We near gave you up for lost!"

"Lost?" Jack blinked unsteadily on the deck. "I'm not lost!"

Gibbs raised a quizzical brow.

"Well, no matter," Jack ignored Gibbs. "It's well and truly time we left this wretched place."

Gibbs nodded towards the growing orange glow in the sky. "You didn't have anything to do with that, did ye Jack?"

"Of course not." Jack made a face as he turned to survey the light of the ravenous flames spreading through St Martin. "That, Master Gibbs, is merely our invitation to leave."

"Aye, Captain." Gibbs gestured to the crew, who were busy getting the ship ready around them. "Bollard and Pike were all for leaving immediately, but I talked the men round to waiting for yer." Gibbs lowered his voice. "I have to give fair warning, Jack, there's been a terrible lot of muttering against yer."

Jack frowned. "What for?"

"On account of us not having any of that gold ye been promising us."

"Ah."

Jack gazed distractedly around the ship.

Between the eerie amber light of the distant fire, and the clear rays of the pale moon above them, the entire ship was a strange sight; a surreal portrait of passionate light and cool shadows, embracing and writhing as hot flames grew above the treeline and black clouds sought unsuccessfully to shield the moon's cool light.

"Unusual," Jack said of the strange light.

Gibbs nodded. "Tis a dreadful bad omen."

"The night's been full of 'em."

Master Gibbs opened his mouth to answer, only to stop and gape over Jack's shoulder as two strangers climbed aboard the Dying Gull.

"Uh… Jack?" Gibbs pointed. "You said naught about taking on passengers."

The crew halted in their work to gawp at the newcomers.

The eerie young man who'd met Gibbs and Scrum in Grimes' tavern only hours earlier, hoisted himself up smoothly onto the deck before turning to hold a hand out to a pretty lady in a blue dress behind him.

Jack pretended surprise.

"Oh! Them." He half-turned back to Gibbs and added, "Honestly, I have no idea who they are."

Scrum did a double take when he saw Armando.

"Here, what's this?" Scrum said loudly, loose ropes forgotten in his hands. "What's _he_ doing here?"

Armando stood protectively in front of Carina, and whispered something that made her both blush and shoot him a defiant glare.

"I can take care of myself, thank you!" She snapped at her self-appointed protector.

Grinning, Jack announced loudly to the crew, "Gentlemen! Please welcome our two prisoners!"

Carina turned a shocked look at Jack.

Armando stilled, his eyes glowing in the dim light.

" _What_?" Carina cried. "But we had an –"

"Out of the kindness of me heart," Jack continued, as though Carina hadn't protested, "I've agreed to let them live, on the condition that they give us _all_ their gold, and then in exchange – we'll throw them overboard at the next port."

The crew roared in laughter; and made to move towards them.

Armando took a step forward.

"Kindness?" Armando's soft voice cut through the raucous laughter. "You think you give me kindness, Sparrow?"

A dagger was in his hand so smoothly none of the crew saw how he'd done it.

Jack stood straighter, hand resting on his sword, but he did not draw. "You really wanna have a go, don't yer mate?"

"I will show you _kindness_." Armando hissed.

"Wait!" Carina placed a small hand on Armando's arm. "There's no need."

She turned and addressed the crew in her clear voice. "I've been seeking the Trident of Poseidon. I have a map –" She held up the journal "– that will tell me exactly where to find it."

"What?" Gibbs uttered in surprise.

Jack gave a tense laugh. "She's lying–"

"No, she speaks the truth." Armando's fierce gaze roamed over the ragged crew before him, daring any one of them to disagree. "Your – Captain – agreed to help us seek the Trident, but for one purpose only: break all the curses that have been made at sea."

The crew gasped.

"The Trident!" Gibbs exclaimed. "Jack, ye said we'd never go after treasure like the Trident. Ye said the Trident was just a tale ye told people!"

"And it is!" Jack said loudly. "And even if it wasn't, why would _I_ want to break all curses? Can you imagine what that would do to the world? Setting free every evil out there? You'd have to be stupid to go after it. Or mad." He waved a finger at Carina. "The woman's mad!"

Armando growled at him. "Dishonourable wretch!"

"Your Captain lies." Carina cast a brief glance up to the sky. "Soon the moon will turn red," she called out confidently, "And under its light, I believe this book will reveal a hidden clue to the whereabouts of the Trident."

"She _is_ mad." Jib scratched his thin beard. "Whoever heard of the moon changing colour just cos of a woman's say-so?"

"Exactly." Jack said. "Now pay no attention, men, and restrain them, post-haste."

"Come, then." Armando bared his teeth in a dangerous smile. "Come and try, filth."

"Uh," said Bollard, eying Armando's dagger. "Perhaps we shouldn't."

Pike tilted his head, looking at the two. "Actually. Yeah. Not sure I fancy having that thing stuck in me."

"You lot of bilgey rats!" Jack whirled an arm at them. "I'm ordering you to tie them to the main mast!"

Armando stood even more firmly in front of Carina, and in the dark his eyes glowed even brighter.

The crew looked uncertainly at him.

"Now wait – wait just a minute," Scrum suddenly spoke up. "Now – I ain't saying we shouldn't do what Jack says…" he looked around uncertainly, "But this bloke here – he's got a history with Jack."

The crew looked at Scrum.

"What d'ye mean?" Bollard asked.

Encouraged, Scrum continued, "He's the fella what came up to Gibbs and me before, the one we were telling you about."

Carina glanced curiously at Armando, who remained poker-faced.

Bollard sniffed. "The Spanish bloke?"

"Gibbs said it was the Devil!" Marty accused.

Gibbs shrugged. "Well he _is_ Spanish."

"The Devil ain't Spanish." Pike said. "Ten to one, the Devil's as British as the best of 'em."

"What the bleedin' hell does it matter?" Jack shouted. "Tie the buggers up!"

Jib peered at Armando. "His eyes _are_ strange."

"Definitely orange." Marty nodded. "Very impressive."

"Dunno how you can see that." Bollard snorted. "From all the way down there."

Marty drew himself up. "I may be short but I'm not _blind_ , you big oaf –"

Jack threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Am I the bloody captain here or not?"

"Alright, alright," Scrum interrupted, "But what I wanna know is, who _is_ he?"

 

* * *

 

The fire had spread widely throughout the town, the cries and shouts of desperate townspeople barely discernible over the sound of the roaring flames.

In the smoking and blackened barracks, however, all was silent.

The fire had long moved on to tastier pastures.

And Scarfield was awake.

He stood in the middle of the courtyard, the half-eaten corpses of his men laid out in rows before him.

What few remaining soldiers that escaped both the ravenous appetites of the hideous hags and the raging fires, stayed far away; watching their Lieutenant in fearful silence.

The smouldering walls about Scarfield did not bother him. The stink of charred dead flesh and pungent smoke was almost welcoming.

He closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the sluggishly healing hole in his cheek.

He remembered what those hideous hags had done to him. How they had breathed their foul breath into his lungs. The insidious power slithering through him.

He remembered _her_.

Her wide blue eyes, her lips parting in shock as she looked up at him, half bent over his desk, searching hands like stone, as he walked towards her. Her gasp when he told her what he was going to do to her.

Right before he was knocked unconscious.

Scarfield opened his eyes.

She'd stolen the journal of course.

But no matter. Once he found her – and he _would_ find her – he'd take back the journal and drag her with him to the Trident. He'd make her watch, on her knees, _watch_ the very moment he took the Trident in his hands…

He'd wanted her dead before.

But that was before.

He'd wanted her dead, if only to put an end to those secret, weakening thoughts. Of her submitting to him. Of her _underneath_ him. Gasping out his name in total and complete capitulation, the defiant little wretch…

He imagined those eyes, those lips, that same expression of shock and fear…

His desires no longer made him fear he was weakening. They no longer disgusted him. No, now they drove him.

He would have her.

He would find her, and he would have her and that wide-eyed expression would never leave her face.

He got to work, kneeling over each lifeless body, and began, slowly but surely, to restore them: birthing each man anew, just as he had been.

 

* * *

 

Henry was worried.

He could feel Armando grinding his teeth in an effort not to give into his burning bloodlust.

 _Keep calm,_ he soothed.

"But these pirates are so stupid, Niñito!" Armando hissed under his breath.

"I know," Carina muttered quietly back, thinking Armando was talking to her. "But at least they're not taking us prisoner."

 _They want to know who you are._ Henry suggested. _Tell them you're Henry Turner._

"No." Armando jerked his head. "No, no, no, no, no."

In front of them, the crew of the Dying Gull were still arguing amongst themselves.

"I think he _is_ the Devil." Jib said. "Look at his eyes!"

Pike disagreed. "But he's a bit too young and good-lookin' to be the Devil…"

"That's what the Devil does! Makes 'imself look young an' 'andsome," Jib insisted. "An' then when yer not lookin', he snaps yer soul up an' carries you off to 'ell."

"Sí, fools, I _am_ Diablo." Armando interrupted with a fierce look. "But I'd rather choke on hell than touch any of your filthy souls."

 _Wonderful_ , Henry groaned.

The crew gazed at Armando in awe.

"Hear that boys?" Bollard whispered.

"Said he _is_ the Devil." Scrum murmured wonderingly. "No wonder he hates Jack so much. He's come to take Jack's soul."

Jack started to shuffle uncomfortably, eying his crew sideways.

"So, what do we call you?" Scrum ventured.

 _I hope I don't need to remind you to behave,_ Henry warned Armando. _Remember, we need a ship and a crew, or else this is going to be a damn sight harder._

"Do we call you Diablo?" Scrum paused as a spark of ingenuity fired in his brain. "Or do you prefer something more formal, like His Majesty, The King of Hell –"

"I am Capitán Armando S-"

 _Oh for god's sakes, don't tell them your real name_ , Henry interrupted.

Armando paused.

"Or just… El Capitán."

Armando heard Henry's internal sigh so loudly it was an effort not to wince.

"Not bad," Scrum nodded. "El Capitán Diablo."

The other men murmured their agreement.

"Yes, well, that may be," Jack said loudly, "But there is only one Captain aboard my ship, and that's me."

"This is true," Scrum nodded. "Unless, of course, he's gonna challenge you."

"Yes!" Jack agreed, before wrinkling his nose in confusion. "Er, what?"

"I was just saying," Scrum said helpfully, "If the Devil wants to be the Cap'n, then by the code, he could challenge you –"

"Yes, alright, that's enough of that!" Jack said hurriedly.

Armando's eyes glittered. "Then I challenge Sparrow."

 _What?_ Henry was in disbelief. _You can't be serious._

"Don't worry, Niñito." Armando murmured under his breath. "I will try to remember our agreement."

_I hope you know what you're doing._

"Of course." Armando murmured.

Carina looked at Armando oddly.

"I challenge Sparrow for his ship." Armando called out. "For what is a Captain without his ship, eh, hombre?"

"Challenge… not accepted." Jack turned and began to ascend the stairs towards the ship's wheel.

Armando's voice cut clearly through the sudden silence aboard the ship. "You are afraid?"

Jack paused, midway up the steps.

Armando's lip curled. "He is afraid, because he knows I will win."

Jack turned.

"I'm not afraid, exactly." He glanced around. "I just thought I'd spare you the pain and embarrassment of losing to me."

"I will not lose. Not this time."

Jack looked curiously at Armando. "What do you mean, this time?"

"You best accept the challenge, Jack." Gibbs said, thinking the curiosity was merely a stalling tactic. "Isn't good, denying the Devil."

Armando smiled even wider. "Such true words."

"Fine." Jack swung back down the stairs. "What be your terms, then?"

"Hmmm." Armando tossed his dagger expertly in the air before catching it.

"Show off," Jack muttered.

Armando looked sharply at him. "Under different circumstances, I would've said… your head."

 _Please don't_ , Henry's alarm filled Armando's mind, and it angered him. His fingers squeezed the dagger even tighter.

"I would've run this blade across your throat, Sparrow, and contented myself on seeing your lifeless corpse."

The flood of Armando's intense hostility threw Henry into a tumult of worry.

 _I know you want to, but don't waste your revenge now,_ Henry argued _. He doesn't even know who you really are!_

"You know, you keep threatening me," Jack said amiably. "It's enough to make me think you don't really like me."

Armando's lip curled in a sneer. "There is not a creature in this world I detest more."

 _If you want revenge, real revenge, wouldn't you want to kill him with your own hand?_ Henry conjured up an image of Jack, terrified, pleading on his knees; Henry standing nearby, watching, as Armando cut his throat, slowly. _You could do it in your own body – let him look into your real eyes…_

"It is a bloodthirsty image, Niñito." Armando smiled. "But a pretty one."

"Eh?" Jack blinked.

Armando looked at Jack speculatively. "It _would_ be so easy to kill you."

"Well, I wouldn't be so certain about that," Jack answered.

"But death in a duel," Armando turned and walked to the centre mast, holding the attention of the entire crew, "Would be too honourable, and too quick. No."

Jack fingered the handle of his sword. "First one to draw blood then?"

"First one to yield." Armando corrected. "First one to plead 'Mercy'… must then take the lowest position on board. Subject to the new Captain."

Henry's relief was almost palpable.

It pricked at Armando, so he added cruelly, "And he must be flogged if he disobeys any of the new captain's orders."

_What?_

Jack paused.

"Agreed." He said loudly.

Armando was pleased.

"But first," Jack said, "We ought to remove the lady out of harm's way…"

Armando disappeared.

One moment he was there, standing in front of the mast, and the next, he wasn't.

"He _is_ the Devil!" Scrum crossed himself.

Carina's eyes widened as she peered at something behind Jack.

Jack felt the slightest of stirrings in the air at his back.

He drew his sword fast, just in time to deflect the dagger's downward swing, catching the short blade on his and jerking Armando's arm away and down.

Jack spun to face his attacker.

Armando charged, sliding his dagger in a straight thrust at Jack, who stepped clumsily sideways, narrowly missing the mortal cut that would've severed his neck.

Armando turned with Jack, as graceful as a dancer following his partner, and attacked again with frightening ferocity, slicing left and right as he advanced, driving Jack towards the bow.

Jack parried each blow strongly but with wide eyes, unprepared for the fury of the attack.

Armando slashed at Jack's neck, which he caught again, this time on the crossguard.

But it was Armando who controlled the momentum of the deflection now, pulling Jack forward and down as he yanked his dagger away, drawing Jack into a sharp punch with his fist. Jack let go of his sword, which Armando took neatly, and stumbled back clutching his eye.

"Ow." Jack said in surprise. "Bloody – _ow_!"

Armando stood there, his dagger in one hand and Jack's sword in the other, amidst the gasps of Jack's crew on the Dying Gull.

"Do you yield?"

Jack smiled through bloodied teeth. "Never."

Armando was elated. "Then die."

He raised the sword.

 _Wait!_ Henry's fear flooded Armando's mind.

"Wait!" Carina cried.

Armando halted.

"Please." Carina stammered. "Don't."

Armando ground his teeth in fury, but the sword remained raised. "Why?"

"Because…" Carina faltered.

" _Why_ , mi Ángel?"

In an instant he was in front of her, seemingly unaware he'd just disappeared and reappeared at will across the several feet of deck between them.

"I have no more need of him. _You_ have the map. You can help me find the Trident. What reason do I have to spare Sparrow's life?"

Carina's eyes were wider than ever, and she swallowed.

"Because…" She hesitated.

Henry was at a loss as well. _Because…_

"I'm waiting."

Armando saw Carina’s wide eyes, and realised it wasn’t Sparrow’s life she was afraid for – it was simply _him_ who terrified her.

"Because?" he asked, softer than before.

"You said you made an agreement." Her voice trembled, but she did not look away. "You said you promised someone you wouldn't kill him. If you break your promise, it would be… dishonourable."

Armando stared.

 _She's right!_ Henry nearly shouted. _You made the promise to_ _me_ _! You said not till after we find the Trident!_

The tense moment was broken when Gibbs started slow-clapping.

"Well boys," Gibbs said. "I think we have a new captain."

"Three cheers for our new pirate captain!"

"Three cheers for El Capitán!"

"What?" Armando turned, distracted.

"Treacherous mongrels." Jack stood. "You scurvy lot of –"

"Perhaps El Capitán could show some leniency to Jack," Master Gibbs said.

Armando scowled. "There will be no –"

"After all, death would be too good for him." Gibbs continued, loudly.

"Hear, hear," said Jack, catching on.

"Too right. Bit of torture never hurt anybody," Scrum said.

"Well, let's not be hasty," Jack said. "I haven't actually yielded yet, and that was the terms of the challenge."

"No," Armando said suddenly. "He has not yielded. Tie the Sparrow to the main mast." Armando commanded. " _Until_ he yields."

"Aye, aye, El Capitán!" The crew cried.

"Hold." Armando raised an imperious hand. "First… relieve the Sparrow of his _precious_ gold."

The crew cheered, and surged forward to lay hold of Jack, emptying his pockets with greedy hands before hauling him to the main mast where they commenced lashing him to it with thick ropes.

 _Well..._ Henry said, as Armando watched. _This is… unexpected._

Armando had never thought revenge like this could be so sweet.

His idea of revenge had always been thoughts of blood and pain and death - but this - seeing Jack humiliated first, betrayed by his own crew - though a tiny measure in comparison to what Armando had lost, it was at least a sweet beginning.

A small intake of breath next to him shook Armando from his reverie.

 _Perhaps you should look to the lady,_ Henry advised.

Armando turned.

Carina was pale.

Armando watched as she stiffened, aware of his gaze, and bit her lip. Her long hair shifted a little in the night air, and her bright blue eyes were unusually dark.

"You... you're not really… human, are you?" she said tightly. "What are you?"

"It appears, Carina, I am now your Capitán."

"Is that so?"

Armando heard the coolness in her voice.

 _She's frightened,_ Henry observed drily. _You scared her with your stupid disappearing trick. Which I_ _told_ _you not to do again, but no, you just couldn't help yourself, could you –_

Armando spoke gently. "Do I frighten you, mi Ángel?"

"Not at all." She turned away, pretending to look out over the beach.

_She's terrified._

"You do not look at me."

_She's trying to hide from you._

"If you are… El Capitán…" Carina's small hand gripped the side of the deck. "Then what am I? Am I _your_ prisoner now?"

A curious tightening across Armando's chest made him short of breath. "I am sorry, mi Ángel…"

She turned, her anger and distress making her fierce. "So what now? Will you tie _me_ to the mast?"

A sudden image of Carina tied somewhere more privately rose unbidden in Armando's mind.

"Oh… Niñito," Armando clicked his tongue disapprovingly, "How wicked."

"I – I don't mean – that I _want_ you to –" Carina blushed.

 _That was_ _not_ _me!_ Henry insisted hotly. _That was_ _you_ _!_

Armando smiled.

"Perhaps so." He raised a gentle hand to Carina's chin, and leant closer, tipping her face up gently. "Would you like me to tie you up, Carina? Hmm?"

Carina was speechless.

Behind them, Gibbs cleared his throat.

"So what be El Capitan's next order?"

Reluctantly, Armando dropped his hand from Carina and turned towards Gibbs.

"The Trident," he declared loudly to all of them. "Set Sail immediately. We seek the Trident of Poseidon."

"And as for you, mi Ángel," he addressed Carina. "You will accompany me to the ship's wheel. As my navigator."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm not ruining anything for anyone by this... but I always like to imagine that when Scrum says "His Majesty, The King of Hell" somehow, somewhere, Crowley's ears are burning...


	19. The Blood Moon

From the helm of the Wicked Wench II, Elizabeth turned away from the broad sheets of fire and leaping flames on the shores of St Martin, and gave curt orders for all the lanterns aboard to be lit as they turned the ship about.

Soon, Elizabeth knew, there would be no light at all left, especially the further they sailed from the red light of the burning infierno behind them.

Above, the moon was steadily disappearing, seemingly swallowed by a thick shroud of black. She could hear her crew murmuring amongst themselves as they lit every available lamp, of evil portents and terrible omens; of fire-breathing dragons and wolves that swallowed the moon.

She ignored them, and flicked open the Compass.

In the light of a lantern, she saw its needle pointing firmly away from St Martin.

Looking ahead in the direction the Compass was pointing, she could just make out the tiny telltale glimmer of a lantern on the stern of a small ship up ahead.

Will joined her.

“That a ship?” he asked.

“Henry’s on it.” Elizabeth nodded curtly. “They’re several leagues out, which means…” she made some swift calculations, “They’re travelling less than 2 knots an hour. We can catch up to them in an hour.”

Will glanced again at the burning island behind them. “I wonder that they don’t try and move faster.” He looked back towards the tiny light of the ship. “Do you think they’re waiting for something?”

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll catch up soon, and then we’ll find out about Henry.”

 

* * *

 

Scarfield and his men worked in silence, preparing the Essex to sail.

Once his men had awoken, it had not taken them long to find the remaining living souls on St Martin. Some they’d fed on, others Scarfield had directed them to place in the hold, as provisions for the voyage ahead.

Now well-fed, they worked with preternatural swiftness.

Scarfield watched the lights of the two ships sailing away from St Martin's Bay.

He had no idea which one Carina would be on, but he would soon find out.

In less than an hour, the Essex would be ready to sail.

 

* * *

 

On the Dying Gull, the crew huddled fearfully in the bow as the moon disappeared.

Armando stood at the ship’s wheel, steering them carefully in the slight breeze, while Carina gazed earnestly up, eagerly watching the eclipse.

All worries at the uncertainty of her current situation – as the Navigator for an apparently supernatural Capitán – were lost in the pure exhilaration of witnessing her first blood moon eclipse.

“There.” She breathed. “The moon is well and truly in earth’s shadow now.”

Armando looked.

Above them, the moon was beginning to be faintly visible again – but as a dim orange-brown, instead of white.

Carina flicked through her journal eagerly, holding each page up under the moon’s increasingly reddish glow.

Armando kept steering patiently, glancing between her avidly searching eyes and the steady course he kept on the black waters of the bay.

At the last page, she made a frustrated noise.

“Something should be here.” She muttered. “It was clearly stated, ‘under the light of a blood moon’…”

“Here.” Armando turned. “Take the wheel.” He held out a hand. “Let me see.”

Carina flipped back and forth through the pages again, increasingly aggravated. “But it should be here!”

“Carina.” Armando put his hand firmly on the journal.

She looked up at him.

“Fine.” She let him take it.

 

* * *

 

On the deck below, the crew stared in terror at the moon as it changed from orange brown to blood red.

“It’s her!” Jib was terrified. “She said it would turn to blood, and now it has!”

“She’s a witch!” Pike shivered. “She’s called on the Devil, and in exchange for powers over the moon, she’s now his lover.”

The crew turned furtive eyes towards where Armando and Carina stood side by side at the ship’s wheel, the journal in Armando’s hand. They stood so close, anyone would’ve been hard pressed to slide even a penny between them as they turned the pages together.

“It’s kinda… sweet.” Scrum said.

The crew turned and looked at him.

“Well, _I_ think it is.” He said defensively.

Jib was incredulous. “Look what you’ve g-gotten us into!” he stammered. “El Capitán is the D-devil, and his mistress is a Witch, and that there book they have is full of d-dark magic.”

“Aye, men, methinks tis true.” Gibbs shook his head mournfully. “This night be full of evil portents. But tis too late now, we’ve thrown our lot in with the Devil, and now we must make the best of it.”

“I say we free Jack!” Marty hissed, “And throw the Devil and his mistress overboard!”

“Don’t be a fool!” Gibbs snapped.

“I’d like to see you try and throw anyone, little man!” Bollard grinned. “Especially the Devil”

“Shut up you idiots! The only reason Jack’s alive is because he’s tied to the mast!” Gibbs said urgently. “The moment he’s freed he’ll have to fight him again, and you’ve seen what El Capitán can do! Jack won’t stand a chance!”

“He’s right!” said Jib. “There’s naught anyone can do against El Capitán.”

“Or his witch!” added Marty.

“Quiet!” Pike hissed. “Don’t let her hear you say that! Lest she uses her spell book to turn us into a toad!”

They all fell silent.

 

* * *

 

Jack rested his head against the main mast.

He was tired of trying to budge the tight ropes that bound him.

In the bow, his traitorous crew had been muttering urgently amongst themselves, and throwing him an occasional glance of pity – but none of the scurvy dogs dared venture over, for fear of ‘El Capitán’.

“Bloody pirates,” he muttered.

Not that he could really begrudge them for being traitors and thieves.

After all, he probably would’ve done the same in their place.

At the wheel, Carina was looking through the journal with the strange young Spaniard, neither of them looking even once at their bound captive.

It irked him.

He hated being ignored.

But he loved, _loved_ being noticed. And it had been so easy, riling up the Spaniard on the way to the Gull, making him angry, driving him to fight, rubbing him raw about handing over more and more gold.

Was just a pity that the Spaniard had a touch of the supernatural – something Jack had been… well, truthfully, completely unprepared for. The Spaniard’s ability to disappear and reappear at will had caught Jack completely off-guard.

And the way his eyes turned almost bright gold as they fought…

Truth be told, it had secretly thrilled Jack.

So much hate!

And not just a dismissive, blasé sort of dislike, in the style of Captain Barbossa’s casual disdain – no! This was a vitriolic, deep-seated abhorrence.

It gave him life!

It meant his existence wasn’t as pointless as he’d started to believe.

To discover that there was someone in this whole empty world that hated Jack as much as this Spaniard hated him, meant that he was still important.

He, Captain Jack Sparrow, was still important enough to hate.

Jack watched the blood moon above, a slight smile playing on his lips.

In the oddest of ways, El Capitán reminded him of _her_.

The last person who’d looked at him with that much dislike in their gorgeous brown eyes was a certain Miss Swann… funny, how they both had the same kind of eyes… such pretty eyes she had…

VERY PRETTY.

Jack groaned. “Not you again.”

AGAIN?

Death looked at Jack.

YOU FORGET, WITH ME, THERE IS NO AGAIN. THERE JUST ‘IS’. I AM ALWAYS HERE.

“Right,” Jack rolled his eyes. “So how is it that you disappear and then reappear all the time?”

Death thought about it.

I BELIEVE THAT IS THE BEST WAY A HUMAN MIND CAN INTERPRET THE MOVEMENTS OF AN ANTHROPOMORPHIC FORM.

Death gazed out over the black waters of the bay, back towards the burning island.

WHAT YOU SHOULD BE ASKING, IS HOW _YOU_ CAN SEE ME, BUT NO ONE ELSE HERE CAN.

Jack cast a furtive glance around.

Gibbs and Scrum huddled with the rest of the crew, watching the blood moon above them, fear and uncertainty clearly written on their faces. At the wheel, Armando and Carina were apparently arguing over the journal.

No one seemed to be paying any attention to the hooded and cloaked figure standing by Jack at the mast.

“You know,” Jack slid his eyes towards Death uncertainly, “That’s not a question I’m sure I want the answer to…”

AS YOU WISH.

Death stood quietly nearby, comfortably gazing up at the blood moon as though it were an everyday event.

Finally, Jack sighed. “Alright, alright, who’s gonna die this time?”

OH, NO ONE YET. I JUST THOUGHT I’D COME ALONG, AS YOU MORTALS SAY, ‘FOR THE RIDE’.

Jack looked quizzically at Death. “Who says that?”

Death thought about it.

MOSTLY PEOPLE WITH ULTERIOR MOTIVES.

“Uh huh.” Jack looked away. “Then what’re you really here for?”

Death was silent for a minute.

I DON’T THINK I CAN BEGIN TO EXPLAIN IN A WAY YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND -

“Try me.”

Death looked at Jack almost appreciatively.

LET’S JUST SAY THAT THERE ARE CERTAIN – INDIVIDUALS – WHO HAVE BEEN INTERFERING WITH ME, AND I DO NOT APPRECIATE MY WORK BEING INTERFERED WITH.

“And you expect them to turn up here?”

I EXPECT TO SEE AT LEAST ONE OF THOSE INDIVIDUALS SHORTLY.

Death turned and looked out to sea.

AND EVENTUALLY, BY THE END, THE MAIN AUTHOR OF ALL THIS WILL COME TO ME.

“What makes you so sure?” Jack asked. “I mean, I can’t imagine anyone actually going out of their way to see you on purpose… no offense meant.”

SHE WON’T BE ABLE TO RESIST. AND WHEN SHE COMES, IT WILL BE THE END.

“Ah.” Jack nodded. “Bugger.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s no use,” Carina was beyond frustrated. “It’s not working!”

Armando closed the journal.

The uncut ruby glowed strangely in the red moonlight, diffusing unusual patterns through its jagged surface.

“And we won’t have the Blood Moon for much longer, either.” Carina sighed.

Staring, Armando traced the ruby with a finger. It moved a little. He pressed his fingers hard against it, and began to loosen it from its setting in the cover.

“What are you doing?” Carina wrapped her hand over his, alarmed.

“Wait, mi Ángel,” he murmured. “I think I know…”

Reluctantly, Carina removed her hand from his.

Armando plucked the ruby out, and held it up to the moonlight, peering through it.

At once, the moonlight spilled through the ruby, highlighting bright lines on the leather.

Carina stared.

“Look.”

Armando looked down at the journal.

“It’s an island.” Carina glanced up at him excitedly. “That’s where it is!”

Armando touched the cover, tracing the constellation above the island.

“That’s it,” Carina breathed. “That’s how we find the Trident! We set our course towards that constellation, and it’ll lead us to that island.”

 

* * *

 

Presently, after a few minutes of watching Armando and Carina in silence, Bollard whispered to the others, “I heard the Devil gives you gold, in exchange f’yer soul.”

“He said he don’t want our souls!” Marty whispered. “Remember?”

Bollard thought hard. “Well, maybe he might want me mum’s soul.”

“That ain’t fair!” Scrum objected. “What makes you think your mum’s soul’s better than my mum’s soul?”

“Everyone’s mum’s soul would be better than _your_ mum’s, Scrum.” Gibbs rolled his eyes. “But I wouldn’t go around selling _my_ mum to the Devil. Think of the scolding ye’d get!”

“Well,” Bollard folded his arms, “I’d bring home so much gold, I don’t think she’d rightly care.”

Pike nodded. “I’d offer my mum’s soul too.” He paused. “And maybe my sister’s.”

“My brother’s studying to be a priest.” Jib looked off. “Bet he’d be worth a lot of gold.”

“Well,” sniffed Scrum. “The only good soul I ever knew was me dog’s, and I’m not lettin’ the Devil have him, I don’t care how much gold he offers!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Jack's internal monologue, he always thinks of Elizabeth as Miss Swann. Or the Pirate King. Or The Rum-Burner. Or any other number of descriptive epithets. Anything, except for Mrs. Turner. Because this is my head canon, and I'm sticking to it.


	20. Leaving St Martin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Ashleye  
> Because who can resist psychic coercion ; )  
> And AnimeFan1994  
> I hope this brightens your day!

Armando stood at the prow, facing into the strong wind as the Dying Gull sped over the choppy waves, unhappy at their progress.

“I miss La María Silenciosa,” Armando muttered. “We would’ve been there by now if I had her.”

But Henry was less glum.

 _What are you talking about,_ he retorted. _Look how much faster we’re going!_

“A donkey could outswim us at this speed.”

 _Yes, well, remind me to buy you a donkey as soon as we get free,_ Henry rolled his eyes. _You can put it in the sea and paddle off to Spain with it._

“Very funny.” Armando’s scowl deepened. "But I’ve seen better bathtubs than this bucket.”

 _Oh, stop._ Henry was exasperated. _We’re doing fine._

“Not fast enough.”

Armando cast another worried glance behind him in the pre-dawn light.

They had been followed by the two ships ever since they left St Martin's bay. One of them was obviously a pirate ship, its black flag pugnaciously displaying a skull with a golden crown at the top of its main mast; but the other was a fully equipped British navy warship, with no less than 90 cannons by his count.

To Armando there was no question: both ships were to be avoided at all costs – but at present it was a race to see if either would catch up to the Dying Gull before they reached their destination.

Armando feared they would.

Only by sheer dint of Armando’s experienced command, and a surprisingly stiff wind that seemed to spring up out of nowhere to drive their tiny ship forward, had they managed the miraculous feat of outstripping their pursuers.

Armando had ordered all unnecessary cargo thrown overboard, much to Jack’s loud complaining from where he was still bound at the mast; as well as the unfurling of all sails to make good use of the wind, and at present they were making a speed of nearly sixteen knots.

Armando shifted his gaze from their distant pursuers to his navigator, standing steady at the wheel, as she had stubbornly been standing for the last five hours.

She occasionally glanced down at the Chronometer she held, her lips moving in silent calculations to herself, before glancing up at the fading constellation ahead of the ship.

Soon, when the sun rose, the constellation would disappear entirely; but she had assured him that with her Chronometer she’d still be able to steer the ship accurately towards the Trident.

The Chronometer itself had almost become a source of contention between them.

When she’d first pulled it from her pocket, he’d been merely curious.

“A Chronometer?” he’d commented, “Resourceful...”

“It seems very well made,” Carina had said, studying it carefully. “Though I’m not sure if it’s designed well enough to navigate with…”

Armando was surprised. “You have not had it long?”

“Only since yesterday,” she’d answered absently, turning it over to study the back. “But it might still… help me avoid a certain margin of error...”

Armando noted the fine craftsmanship of the watch, the way Carina stared at it, the way her gentle fingers caressed its sides, and the sudden discomforting thought that Carina had _un admirador_ would not be suppressed.

“May I ask, Señorita, how you came by it?”

Carina had glanced up at that, her mouth parting as she tried to think of what to say.

“It was a – it was given to me.”

Armando did not miss the way she resolutely turned from him, concentrating instead on studying it again – he knew it was a ruse to avoid further questions, and it did nothing to quell the strange tightness within him.

“So it was a gift?” Armando paused before adding, “From a man?”

Carina paled. “It was not stolen, if that is what you mean.”

 _Oh, do give the poor girl a break_ , Henry had interrupted. _She nearly forgot to be afraid of you, and now you’ve just gone and put her off all over again._

But Carina’s avoidance kept niggling at Armando, so he’d asked again.

“¿De quien?” he pressed. “Who would give you such a gift?”

“My host.” Carina slid a glance towards him, and faltered. “Mr. Onslow. He felt terrible when he and his wife couldn’t take me in…”

“Ah.” Armando’s face cleared, and he almost smiled. “So it was an old married man. That is good.”

But Carina’s brow was still troubled. “He – came to visit me… when I was – when I was arrested.”

“¿Que?” Armando blinked. “Arrested?”

“That is how – how I came to be in the – in the – outside last night.” A faint tinge of pink coloured her cheeks. “The… the Lieutenant… the one you rescued me from. The one that tried to – attack me. Last night in the fire.” She took a deep breath, and finished, “I was arrested and he put me in the stocks.”

Armando absorbed this in silence.

Carina still seemed unable to bring herself to look at him.

“But you were innocent?” Armando watched her carefully. “It would be a very grave misunderstanding, then, for this Lieutenant to make.”

Armando did not miss the way Carina’s fingers clenched around the Chronometer.

He saw the expression of revulsion in her eyes, the way she stiffened at the wheel, and understood more than if she had told him in words what kind of man the Lieutenant had been.

“He was…” Carina suddenly tossed her hair defiantly, adorably prim in her fury. “His character was sorely lacking in morals.”

Armando hadn’t been able to resist placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Then I am sorry I did not kill him for you mi Ángel.”

Carina looked at him when he said that, her eyes wide and vulnerable, surprised at his warm touch.

“I doubt he survived that fire anyway.” She told him quietly, “I hope he didn’t.”

 

* * *

 

 Even now, Armando savoured that look in his mind, the wide eyes, and the soft surprise he himself had felt when she hadn’t shunned his touch, even as he’d hastily removed his hand before the other crew could see.

He would not allow Carina’s reputation be put in jeopardy by his own lack of self control around her; she was a lady, and he would see to it that none of the crew would ever doubt her status as a lady on _his_ ship.

He watched as Carina’s hair flew out in the breeze, streaming behind her like dark silk; her lips pressed into the most adorable pout of concentration.

To Armando, she was surpassingly lovelier than any woman he’d ever seen in his low existence.

 _Pretty, isn’t she?_ Henry commented casually.

“Yes.” Armando kept watching, quietly fascinated. “Beautiful.”

_You probably haven’t seen a woman for a while, have you?_

“No…” Armando stared, entranced when she lifted up a hand to try and tuck her wild hair behind an ear, her fingers tangling in the soft dark strands.

_She is very beautiful._

Carina had twisted her hair away to one side in an attempt to restrain it, baring her lovely neck to his avid gaze.

“Claro que sí,” Armando breathed. “She _is_ an Ángel.”

_She seems to like you._

“Que?” Armando blinked.

 _Though, it’s hard to know._ Henry mused. _Maybe, she actually likes me… and you’re just getting in the way of our true love…_

“What?!” Armando nearly choked.

_Maybe she just likes you for your body?_

“Quiet,” Armando muttered, dragging his eyes away from Carina. “Cállate persistente tumbleweed! You are not worthy to even speak of mi Ángel.”

_Hmmmmm. I bet she’d look less like ‘mi Ángel’ if she was tied up on your bed…_

Henry conjured up an entirely inappropriate image of Carina, and shoved it into Armando’s mind: Carina, her creamy wrists just lightly restrained with a blue ribbon, on top of soft, rumpled bedsheets, looking up at Armando… an inviting look on her lovely face…

It was so absolutely wrong.

It was so deliciously right.

Armando felt himself involuntarily responding.

 _Now, now,_ Henry chided. _It’s not proper, you know, to touch a man’s jewels without permission._

The scene became even more erotic, as Carina gasped his name…

Armando stifled a groan.

“Sometimes, I could kill you, Niñito.”

Henry laughed. _But then you’d be so bored!_

“And I thought you were an innocent.” Armando shook his head. “I was deceived.”

 _Oh, I was innocent… but now I have a wicked mentor._ _El Capitán Diablo…._

“Shut up.” Armando growled, and faced out towards sea again.

 

* * *

 

 Before the sun had even reached its mid-morning peak, Armando was feeling light-headed.

 _At least go sit down,_ Henry ordered. _You’ve been on your feet for nearly twenty-four hours straight._

“I will sit only a little while,” Armando ran a hand over his face. “But I cannot sleep.”

He stalked stiffly across the deck towards the Captain’s cabin – now his cabin.

“El Capitán,” Sparrow called as Armando passed him.

 _Just ignore him_ , Henry advised, but Armando stopped and turned a hostile gaze to the man still bound to the main mast.

“I’ve got a proposition for you.”

 _Tell him you’re not interested_ , Henry was firm. _You have better things to think about._

“Not interested,” Armando said firmly, and turned away.

“Well, I just thought you might like to know how the Trident works…”

Armando stopped again.

“Because, I’m guessing you’re gonna use it to break that little… problem you got.”

Armando turned, his eyes flaring orange. “I told you, Sparrow, I am not interested.”

“Not that it’s that bad of a problem,” Jack continued cheerfully. “I mean, I know a lot of people would kill to have what you got – not every day that someone can just disappear into thin air…”

Armando began to stalk towards Jack.

“But something tells me,” Jack grinned, “That you don’t exactly think of it as a gift, do yer mate? Otherwise you wouldn’t be so keen to get hold of that Trident…”

“Then tell me,” Armando hissed in Jack’s face. “Tell me what you know about using the Trident.”

“Well, here’s the thing.” Jack leant his head back comfortably against the mast. “Firstly, I think there’s a lot more going on in that head of yours than you’d like to let on.”

 _Careful_ , Henry suddenly warned.

“You got a look on yer face. I seen that look before.” Jack grinned. “I seen it often enough to know what it is.”

“And what is that, hombre?”

Jack’s look turned into the sly expression Armando hated. “Yer losing yer mind, mate.”

 _Calm, calm,_ Henry soothed. _Don’t listen to him._

Armando considered Jack coolly for a moment. “You think I am mad, eh?”

Jack started to grin again, but before he could even answer, Armando snapped, “You think, ‘Ah, this Spaniard, he’s a madman.’ Is that what you think?”

 _Don’t let him goad you –_ Henry began.

“Takes one to know one,” Jack winked at Armando.

Armando’s eyes flared even brighter. “You think I am like _you_?”

_Turn around and walk away –_

“Nah, mate.” Jack’s grin lapsed into seriousness. “I think you're _worse_ than me.”

For a long moment, Armando’s eyes were a war of chocolate brown and hot orange; Jack watched, fascinated, at the way the colours flickered across the Spaniard’s eyes like a torn sail whipping back and forth in a fierce storm.

Finally the eyes resolved to a dark amber, and Armando stepped back.

“Niñito, you vex me... sí, sí, sí! I won't! For now...” Armando muttered under his breath, but Jack had heard. “Next time you get my attention, Sparrow, it had better be for something useful.”

Armando turned and stalked away towards the Captain’s cabin.

Jack watched him go – noting for the first time the funny way El Capitán moved – not because of injury or fatigue – but, now that Jack was thinking about it, more like... an older, taller, man trying to move in a younger man’s body.

“Interesting,” Jack mused to himself. “ _Very_ interesting.”

 

* * *

 

 Carina knew she needed to rest, but if she was perfectly honest with herself, she was loathe to let anyone else navigate.

The only crew member seemingly brave enough to even speak to her about resting, though, was the man everyone seemed to call ‘Scrum’.

He stood tentatively a few steps from her side, wringing his hands a little as he waited for her answer, while Gibbs and Marty pretended to work busily nearby.

Carina stifled her frustration – any fool could see the two were secretly eavesdropping on them, too nervous to talk to a woman themselves – but she’d long ago determined never to let other people’s behaviour affect her. If she could at all help it. Which, these days, was proving harder and harder to do.

“What do you mean, rest?” She asked tersely.

“Sorry m’lady, but…” Scrum began hesitantly. “El Capitán’s just gone to his cabin, and he said to address you, m’lady, and ask you respectfully to leave off navigating and join him for some – some refreshments.”

Carina’s tired mind shuddered to a stop at the thought of being alone with Armando.

From out of nowhere, the memory of those – those completely, breathtakingly _inappropriate_ words that she was going to endeavour to forget from now on – _would you like me to tie you up, Carina?_ – and that _look_ he gave her when he said them – making her feel like she was being enveloped in the heart of a flame – yes, she was never going to think about _that_ ever again, consider them well and truly forgotten –

“M’lady?”

Carina gripped the ship’s wheel a little tighter, and looked straight ahead as she told Scrum in as light a tone as she could muster, “You may tell El Capitán that it is a very kind offer, but I must keep our course.”

“Er.” Scrum cleared his throat. “Sorry, m’lady, but –”

“Carina.”

“Eh?”

“My name’s Carina.”

Scrum looked confused, and Carina found herself feeling a little sorry for him.

She gave him a kind smile. “What is your name?”

Scrum stared. “Wha’?”

“I meant, what is your _real_ name?”

“My real name?”

“Well, I imagine it isn’t Scrum.”

“Er.” Scrum stared some more. “No. No, it’s… me mum calls me George.”

“Well, George, it’s nice to meet you, but I am resolved to stay here until we reach our destination.”

“Er. Um. So… sorry, m’lady, but…” Scrum looked nervously back at Gibbs, who pretended to be even more invested in his work, and refused to acknowledge the clear plea for help.

“Yes?”

“It’s just that…”

Scrum took a deep breath and squinched up his face, ready for the terrible magical retribution that would surely come.

“It’s just that if you don’t go El Capitan might not be very happy with us and he’ll want to know why we aren’t letting you rest and he just plain terrifies us all and we’d really rather not have our souls sent to hell if it’s all the same to you.” He said in one breath, before adding, as an afterthought, “Please.”

Carina looked into those beseeching, squinched up eyes, and sighed.

“Alright then. But mind you listen carefully, I’m going to tell you how to stay the course we’re on while I’m gone.”

Clearly relieved, Scrum beamed. “Much obliged, Lady Carina.”

 

* * *

 

Barely minutes after Armando had retreated into his cabin, Bollard, Jib and Pike had knocked on the door of the Capitán’s cabin.

“Entre.” Armando called from where he’d sat himself gratefully in the chair at the Captain’s table.

The three shuffled in, carefully placing trays of food on the table before Armando.

“Suficiente.” Armando waved them away. “I will serve the lady when she comes, now leave.”

“Er,” Bollard said, eyes respectfully downcast. “El Capitán…”

Armando glared up at him.

Bollard sensed his Capitán’s displeasure, and swallowed. “Me and the crew were wonderin’.”

"Sí?"

“If – er – if you’d be interested in – in me mum?”

Armando felt Henry’s interest perk up.

_Oh no, does mi Ángel have a rival?_

Armando stared, trying to understand. “Perdón?”

“Idiot!” Pike elbowed Bollard. “That’s not how we practiced it.”

“The thing is,” Jib cleared his throat. “We thought, maybe, you know, after we find the Trident for you, that you might, perhaps… reward us?”

 _Ah._ Henry said. _They want to know what they’re going to get out of this. Though I don’t know why the big one is offering his mother to you…_

“Reward?” Armando asked slowly. “You are in _my_ service, and you ask for a reward?”

“No, no,” the three crewmen shuffled uncomfortably. “Don’t need nothin’.”

“Unless, of course, maybe, we could… offer more?” Bollard squinted fearfully at Armando.

“Something of more… eternal value?” Jib added.

“In exchange for some earthly treasure?” Pike blurted out. "Just a little gold. Don't have to be much..."

 _El Capitán Diablo,_ Henry started to laugh. _I do believe they are offering you their souls._

“What?” Armando blinked. “You are offering your souls?”

The three fidgeted, keenly aware they were in the presence of _the_ fallen angel who could quite possibly also read their minds.

“Um, yeah. Our souls.” Pike said hurriedly. “But, you know, if you want other souls, we could offer you other souls, if our souls aren’t, you know, to yer likin’…?”

Henry hadn’t stopped laughing. _Oh please, please, say yes!_

“I have no wish for the souls of pirates.”

The three slumped, dejected.

 _Oh, go on!_ Henry pleaded. _Have some fun!_

Armando sighed.

“But… if you swear loyalty to me, I will ensure…” he paused. “I will ensure you receive all the gold you need, and the souls of your family will be free.”

They blinked at him.

“And… and our souls too?”

“Your souls too, if you so wish.”

“You… you can do that?” Bollard’s round face looked hopefully at their Capitán.

“Of course.” Armando affected sternness. “Do you think anyone is going to argue with _me_?”

Jib’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. “Really?”

“Sí.  Serve me, and you and all your families will all be freed… to go to heaven…” he fluttered his hands in the air. “Once you die.”

They beamed, their instantly effusive assurances to serve him loyally all their days clamorous in the cabin.

“Enough,” he snapped, and they were obediently silent. “Now go.”

They left, closing the door behind them, but not before Armando heard Jib whisper loudly, “You know, the Devil ain’t half bad, is he?”

“He’s a good sort,” Bollard agreed, closing the door, before adding in a much louder voice that carried back through to where Armando still sat. “And I think me mum’s gonna be real proud, when I write an’ tell her we’re gonna go to heaven together!”

Their jubilant conversation faded as the crewmen returned to the deck.

Henry chuckled.

_Dear, dear, dear. Impersonating a religious being, I wonder what the penalty is for that?_

“No more penalty than for all the other things I’ve done.”

 _Don’t worry yourself,_ Henry soothed. _It’s good the crew are loyal to you. It’s a means to an end. Only someone who doesn’t want anything can afford the luxury of morals._

Armando ran a hand over the back of his neck, massaging the tight ache that had begun to build there ever since he boarded the Dying Gull.

“But it’s _my_ morals, Niñito, and _my_ integrity.” He said quietly. “And I begin to fear where it will end.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in the next chapter, Carina and Armando are finally alone together...
> 
> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:  
> un admirador – an admirer  
> Claro que sí – of course  
> Cállate persistente tumbleweed! – Shut up you persistent tumbleweed!  
> Entre - Come in (formal)  
> Suficiente - Enough


	21. The Comforts Of Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armando isn’t the only one who talks to himself (though he is the only one who currently has a real person answer back)...
> 
> Elizabeth is woken from a sexy dream...
> 
> And in this chapter I must give Warnings for minor Food Porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday AnimeFan1994, hope you enjoy this chapter!

Carina rested her head against the Captain’s cabin door.

 _I am not afraid,_ she told herself. _There is nothing to be afraid of._

She put her hand on the doorhandle.

_No reason for me to be trembling._

_No reason for my hands to sweat._

She lifted her head, straightening her back.

 _I am not going to be scared about the fact that he can disappear and reappear at will from several feet away,_ she told herself sternly.

_Or about the way his eyes change from rich brown to a bright fiery orange and back again._

_Or how I shiver when those same eyes look at me..._

“You are a woman of science,” she whispered angrily to herself.

_It’s perfectly natural to be... to be... uncertain about him. After all, until now, until him, everything in this world was easily explained. Everything was capable of being analysed. All seemingly paranormal events had a rational and cogent explanation..._

_Even the vertigo-inducing tightness you feel when he brushes against you…?_

“Enough!” she scolded herself.

_It’s not him making me feel that way. It’s just... the waves, bumping against the ship._

Nodding firmly to herself, she opened the Capitán’s door.

 

* * *

 

 Elizabeth traced her fingers over sleeping eyelids before pressing a featherlight kiss to each.

A slight smile touched her lips as she watched him open his eyes slowly.

For a long moment, they looked at each other.

And then, without a word, he reached a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a slow, lingering kiss…

“Jack…” she murmured.

“Elizabeth...”

She smiled, imagining she could feel him harden against her.

“Elizabeth.”

She groaned, and rolled on the bed, legs tangling, long hair catching underneath her back…

“Elizabeth, the Essex has fired their cannons again.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes.

Will was standing awkwardly at the door to her cabin, face turned away.

Annoyed, she sat up. “How far away are they?”

Will did not look at her as she pulled her clothes on. “Still too far to hit us. But the men said you wanted to know every time they tried.”

“And Henry?” She yanked her boots up. “How far away is he?”

“You’d best see for yourself,” Will said apologetically.

“Dammit,” Elizabeth pinned her hair back and shoved it under her hat, before stalking out past Will onto the deck.

 

* * *

 

 Carina risked another covert glance as Armando lifted the silver cup and took his third mouthful of water.

She couldn’t remember seeing anyone drink water with such pure unadulterated pleasure before.

In silent fascination, she couldn’t help but watch how he would hold it in his mouth before swallowing, his eyes closing for a moment as though the sensation was the most exquisite he’d ever had.

She looked at her own cup, and wondered if they were drinking the same water.

Armando saw she was not drinking. “Do you prefer something else to drink?”

Carina hastily picked up her cup. “No, no…”

She took a sip.

The water was tolerable, but there was a definite hint of mouldy staleness to it...

How he could drink, then, as though it were the very waters of life was beyond her.

She glanced at him again, and saw him watching her steadily back, cup in hand.

“You may speak freely,” he said. “Whatever is on your mind. You do not have to be… polite.”

“Oh no, it’s nothing.”

“We are alone.” He grimaced slightly, “Or at least, I will ensure that whatever you speak will be kept in the strictest confidence forever after.”

“Well,” Carina said, unsure how to really start. “I – well, to be honest, I was wondering –”

Armando casually took a plum from one of the platters in front of him, while listening, and bit into it. She stared as his lips wrapped around the dark red skin, and the crunch of his teeth through the firm fruit seemed to Carina to be the only sound in the suddenly tiny cabin. Her mind stuttered to a stop.

“Mmmmmm,” Armando moaned softly.

Carina felt an unholy heat skim up her neck and over her face, and tried to recover herself by taking a sip of the stale water.

The sounds he was making…

 _I will not look,_ she told herself. _I will not look I will not look I will not –_

Slowly, her eyes were drawn back to him.

Armando’s eyes had fluttered shut again, and he leant back in his chair as he rolled his bite around in his mouth, the rest of the sweet half-eaten plum dripping juice into his hand and down his wrist, forgotten in his rapture.

Carina’s lips involuntarily parted.

He gave another soft throaty moan.

God help her, but if he ate everything like that, she was going to spontaneously self-combust.

There’d be nothing left of her but ash.

They’d be carrying her remains about in a box… or maybe, there’d be so little left, from the terribly superheated combustion she was sure was coming on, they’d have to put her inside one of the silver cups on the table… like the one he’d touched to his lips… his lips…

Carina stifled her own groan.

With one more “Mmmmmm,” Armando swallowed.

And then, to Carina’s intense anguish, brought the plum to his lips for another bite.

“ _No_!” Carina stood suddenly. “That will be _quite_ enough of that, thank you kindly!”

Armando was confused. “Perdón?”

“I – I won’t tolerate – sitting here, while you – while you eat – while you do – _that_.” Carina scraped her chair back harshly from the table. “I think it is best if I – if I eat alone.”

“Have I offended you, Carina?” Armando carefully placed the half-eaten plum on his plate, and gently wiped at the juice on his fingers with a cloth napkin.

Carina felt a little silly, especially in the face of his calm demeanour, but she’d started to leave so her pride demanded she not stop now.

“I beg your pardon, but - but I would prefer it if from now on, if you dined… alone.”

Concerned, Armando asked, “Is it not –” he searched for the right phrase, “What the French say, _de rigeur_? To dine with your Capitán?”

Carina stared. “What?”

“I had not thought…” Armando looked truly sorry. “But of course. It has been a long time for me. An unmarried lady dining alone with a man is not done in polite society, forgive me.” He stood formally, and gestured towards the food on the table. “Please, stay.”

Carina could not speak.

No one had ever cared about her reputation before.

“I will resume when you are satisfied, my lady.” Armando bowed, far more graciously than English custom would’ve dictated he bow to a lady of her station and birth, and moved to leave.

Carina felt like an idiot.

She felt angry at herself for being so upset – after all, the man _was_ only eating, for goodness sake – never mind how it made her feel – but she just _couldn't_ let him leave, especially when she actually had _so_ many questions that she needed to ask, even though she often found herself staring speechlessly at him when she should be talking, like right now watching him leave and she'd never noticed before just how much she liked his company and why on earth was she feeling all these conflicting things so keenly anyway?

_He's nearly left the room, Carina, stop him!_

“Wait,” Carina called.

Armando stopped uncertainly by the door.

“It – it is I who must apologise to you.” She turned to him, struggling to find a reason to keep him in the room. “I'm sorry... I did not mean to behave so rudely. I think – I believe – we can forego the proper etiquette in such a situation as this.”

“Situation?”

“Yes.” Carina nodded firmly as an idea came swiftly to her rescue. “After all, I am, among many other things, a lady: but I am a scholar _first._ And it would be a grave injustice to – to science, if I discarded such an opportunity, for such a flimsy objection as manners.”

“You wish me to stay?”

“Please,” Carina said.

Armando lingered by the door, still hesitant. “You wish to – ask me questions, no?”

“I do,” Carina cleared her throat. “But, if I may say – only on the proviso you eat _after_ we have talked.”

Armando shrugged slightly. “I cannot promise I will answer every question.”

“Whatever you wish, El Capitán.”

A small smile hovered over his lips at that.

“Then, my scholar,” Armando replied, “Let us put aside the conventions – but only for today.”

 

* * *

 

 Elizabeth had been determined to catch the Dying Gull, that elusive little tub, ever since they left St Martin's Bay – but every time they seemed to be gaining, the blasted thing seemed to pick up speed from out of nowhere and slip further ahead.

If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought the little ship was just lucky. That it was sheer luck that had it coasting on the current – a current her own ship could not find.

That it was sheer luck that it was being blown along by a very pointed gale – when not even a breath stirred the Wicked Wench II.

And sheer luck that kept their own pursuers, the Essex, far enough away for their occasional cannon fire to fall short.

But she did know better, though it took her several more hours to finally admit it.

Several more hours of pacing the deck, peering through her telescope at the Dying Gull, its sails completely unfurled, being driven along by a strong and fierce wind.

Several more hours of shouting orders at her men, and generally wearing herself out with her frustration; before, finally, she’d retreated back into her cabin by half-ten in the morning, and ordered Will to follow.

Without even an overture of false regard for her audience, she picked up a rum bottle and took a gulp of the burning liquid, before turning to face him.

“So what was the bargain with Calypso?”

Will paused. “In return for our son’s life?”

“Yes.”

“You know this already,” he sighed.

“Yes, but I want to hear _you_ say it.”

“One night in my bed.”

Elizabeth took another swallow of rum. “And?”

Will shook his head. “There was no ‘and’.”

“You’re lying.” Elizabeth gripped the rum bottle tightly. “With Calypso, there’s always an ‘and’.”

“Not this time.”

Elizabeth looked like she wanted to hurl the rum bottle at Will’s face, but instead she took yet another angry gulp of the stuff, before saying hoarsely, “Do not take me for a fool, Will Turner.”

“I don’t.”

“My ship is the fastest on the seas. There is no other ship that I cannot outrun. There is no other ship that I cannot catch either. And yet –” She scowled, “And yet, here is this dinky little barrel of a boat, able to outrun _my_ ship?”

She broke into a dry laugh.

“And the Essex is _still_ behind us. Still! Not close enough to worry about…” She looked off for a moment, before turning back angrily. “But don’t think I’m not aware that at any hour, _any_ hour, something might just _suddenly_ ‘happen’, for no apparent reason, and that warship will _suddenly_ be on us like a cat in heat.”

Will spoke hesitantly. “It may not necessarily be Calypso doing it –”

“It is.” Elizabeth snapped. “What I want to know is, why? What else does she want?”

 

* * *

 

 “Are you content if I drink?” Armando asked. “I will wait to eat, as you have requested, but if we are to talk, I will need water.”

Carina pressed her lips together but nodded. “Very well.”

 _And I will endeavour not to stare when you do,_ she silently promised herself.

“So.” Armando sat back with his water. “What questions do you have, my little Scholar?”

“Well, the first question is – how do you disappear?”

Armando paused. “You are very direct.”

“What did you expect?” Carina countered. “You can disappear into thin air. Of course I want to know how you do it!”

Armando set his water down.

“In truth, I do not know. I didn’t even know I could do it in this... lo siento, that I would be able to do it at all, until yesterday. I simply thought… where do I want to be? And then I was there.”

Carina shook her head, obviously frustrated. “Then… what does it feel like? To do it?”

“To some, I imagine it would feel…” Armando looked up. “Like being caught in a fast whirlpool. Makes them ill.” He rested his eyes back down on hers again. “But those would be the kind of people who complain all the time about it, like little babies…” Armando scratched a sudden itch at the back of his neck, a smug smile on his lips. “For me? I have a stronger stomach than – others I know. I feel… a cold wind… it rushes –” he placed his hands over his chest, “Through me, and then it is done.”

Carina sat back thoughtfully. "You said you didn’t even know you could do it until yesterday. Why yesterday, and not before?”

“And there, mi Ángel," Armando was unapologetic, "Is the first question I will not answer.”

 

* * *

 

 In Elizabeth’s cabin, Will was still arguing with her.

“Elizabeth, I doubt Calypso would be going to all this trouble.”

“She would, if there was something to gain.”

“If all this is Calypso,” Will countered, “Then maybe it’s just her – being capricious?”

“No, she wants something. I know it. Why do you think Calypso brought Barbossa back? Do you think it was out of the kindness of her heart?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Because it wasn’t. She wanted something from him – wanted Barbossa to help free her. Which he couldn’t do, if he was dead. So, _tell me_. What else does Calypso want? ”

“She doesn’t want anything.” Will argued. “You forget, Elizabeth – _I_ was the one who summoned her.”

“What?” Elizabeth turned disbelieving eyes towards him. “I thought Calypso came to _you_? And now you’re telling me you actually _asked_ her to come?”

“I summoned her.”

“But why?”

“You saw what happened to Davy Jones.” Will gestured helplessly to his face. “It was starting to happen to me. I was starting to - look like him. So I summoned her. Asked why it was happening. Calypso said there were dead souls in the Devil’s Triangle that needed to be ferried to the other side, and that once that happened, everything would be alright. She even agreed to sail with us, to bring us to where it was. But when we got there… that was when she told me Henry was in there. The Dutchman couldn’t go in, Elizabeth! I wanted to so much, once I knew he was in there, but we couldn’t!”

“So Calypso went in.” Elizabeth sat down heavily, trying to understand. “Why is she trying to stop me from seeing him then? Why is she stalling me so much?” She rubbed a tanned hand across her face tiredly. “ _What is going on aboard that ship_?”

 

* * *

 

 “So…” Carina frowned. “One day, you were normal, and then the next, you had these… powers?”

Armando traced the embossed silver of his cup. “I was… different to how you see me now.”

Carina tilted her head. “In what way?”

Armando leant forward. “I said I could not answer all your questions, Carina, and I meant it.”

“What are you afraid of?” She asked. “Do you think I won’t believe you?”

“That is a possibility.”

“Nonsense. I’ve experienced more strange things over the last two days than I think I could adequately analyse in a lifetime.”

She fell silent, thinking for a moment of the strange nightmarish terror she’d had when she'd been alone in the stocks, and the strong sensation that there had been an awful creature behind her. She thought of Scarfield’s face, with its hollow eyes and gaping wound; and the way he talked to her. She thought of the Blood Moon, and then their miraculous escape from St Martin's Bay and the two ships pursuing them…

Armando opened his mouth as though to speak, but then changed his mind, and picked his cup of water up instead, sipping in the silence.

“Sometimes I get the feeling…” Carina stopped, and looked about at the walls of the cabin, gathering her thoughts. “I get the feeling... that we’re… just pawns in someone’s larger game.”

Armando put his silver cup down.

“What makes you say that?”

Carina quirked a smile at him. “Normally, I wouldn’t trust something as intangible as feelings…”

“Feelings are not to be discarded.” Armando countered gently. “You do not need to base your decisions solely on feeling, but – together with intellectual reasoning – feelings make a powerful motivator. And without them, how would we ever know what we need?”

“True.” Carina absorbed his words. “Lately, there have been so many inexplicable, immeasurable... _intangible_ things happening to me… that feelings should be the least of my problems.”

“You feel... you are not in control?”

Carina nodded, and shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Ever since I arrived on St Martin, I have been at the mercy of other people’s whims.” Her mouth pursed tightly. “And I am growing tired of it.”

“I… understand.” He dropped his gaze to where his fingers rested on the stem of his goblet, and his eyes hardened. “I am at the mercy of others as well.”

“Who?”

“Perdón?”

“Who do you have to answer to?” There was an edge to her words. “You are El Capitán. You have powers a week ago I would never have believed existed. I’ve seen you disappear into thin air with my own eyes. You frighten everybody. This whole crew of hardened pirates would lie down and let you walk over them, if you wished it. So who are _you_ at the mercy of?”

Armando considered her, his fingers tracing the edges of his cup again, but did not answer.

“Unless,” Carina said sarcastically, “There is some invisible evil being that I cannot see, bending you to do his will –”

Armando suddenly chuckled. “And if there is?”

Carina frowned, perplexed.

“What?”

“What if,” Armando’s eyes were lit with humour, “There _is_ an evil being, who you can see - and yet…” he tapped his fingers against the table, “ _Not_ see – whispering constantly in my head, like the persistente tumbleweed that he is, and punishing me if I try to go against his will…”

Armando paused, and smiled, as though at a secret joke.

Carina stared. “Surely… you’re not serious…”

“Am I not?”

“I admit your ability to disappear is beyond my… experience to explain,” Carina pressed her lips together. “But do not play with me, sir. There is no invisible evil being forcing you to do anything. Whatever your actions, you alone are responsible for them. I doubt anyone can make you do anything you don’t want to.”

"I assure you," Armando's eyes flared orange for a moment. "I have spent every hour since I woke in this ... since St Martin, constantly doing what I don't want to do."

"Like what?"

"Like sparing the Sparrow's life."

Carina pursed her lips again. "I don't know why you hate him so much, but whatever the reason, it is not worth becoming a murderer for."

"But I have murdered before."

"You?" Carina was incredulous. "Murdered?"

"Sí." 

"I can't believe it."

"Why not?"

"Even if i knew nothing about you, I would be able to tell in an instant you'd captained a ship before. And I'm not naive. Any captain, sooner or later, has to make a life or death choice for someone on his ship." Carina was firm. "It doesn't make you a murderer."

"You are being too kind." Armando looked away. "I made a life or death choice for my men, once... since then, there was nothing but murder for a very long time. It is something... I am only just beginning to regret."

Carina was silent for a moment. "And yet, you spared Jack Sparrow. Even though you wanted to kill him."

"Sí." 

"Why?"

Armando became still. "Why do you think, mi Ángel?"

Carina blushed. “I'm sure I cannot say..."

Armando was in his chair. And then suddenly, he wasn’t.

Carina stood in fear and trepidation, looking about the cabin for him.

He reappeared again – right in front of her.

Carina swallowed as she found herself looking at Armando’s chest, and lifted her gaze up to meet his eyes.

He stared down at her with unnerving intensity.

“All these years," he said slowly, "I had no thought but revenge. Nothing touched me but the... constant drive to kill," he finished in a whisper. “Until you."

He closed in until there was barely any space between them, but Carina could not for the life of her move.

"Why is that?" he asked.

"I - I don't know..."

"No?" he lifted a hand and brushed fingers lightly over her cheek. "Do you think I am unable to be touched? That I could look at an Ángel, and not be moved?"

"I... think we are now bordering on... on disregarding proper etiquette..." Carina said faintly.

"You think, mi Ángel, because I care about etiquette, because I care about your reputation, that my feelings aren't true? That I am not tempted to –"

He paused, as though afraid to continue.

Carina looked into his eyes, the fiery orange warring with the colours of earth, and she thought of the Blood Moon, the way the muddy brown shadow of the Earth had gradually given way to the blood red.

There was something so pure about the moment, something strangely right, that even though it made no real sense to her rational mind, she decided that for once in her life she was going to trust her feelings and take a risk...

“Do you think I’m not tempted either?” she stroked his jawline. "That just because you think I'm a 'lady', that I don’t have feelings either?"

“Mi Ángel,” he breathed. “You _are_ a lady, and it would not be good –”

“You’re wrong!” She shook her head. “I’m _not_ a lady. And I’ve never cared for being a lady! I don’t _actually_ care about convention, Armando. I don’t care about etiquette –”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name.”

Carina swallowed. “Armando...”

The heated flush returned, sweeping over Carina’s entire body as he stared fixedly into her eyes.

“I confess, mi Ángel…” Armando reached an arm gently about her waist. “I only cared about it… for your sake…”

Carina tilted her head back, her heart pounding in her chest, so eager to feel his lips…

Until Armando was several feet away.

“I cannot.”

“What?” Carina lowered her empty arms. “Why not?”

Armando couldn’t look at her.

“Forgive me mi Ángel, but I – I will not kiss you. Not in this b – not until… not until after we have the Trident.”

For a long moment, Carina stared at his back.

Then wordlessly, she turned and left the cabin, not even glancing back to where Armando stood, alone by the empty chair.

 

* * *

 

 Will took a tentative step towards her. “I’m not sure what’s going on aboard that ship, Elizabeth. But there is a way we can find out.”

Elizabeth looked at him tiredly. “I just want to see my son, Will. I just want to know he’s alive.”

“He is.” Will said.

He put a leather bag on the table. She could hear the clink of something that sounded remotely like pebbles inside.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”

“A little something a witch taught me. One night when I was ferrying her to the other side.” Will gave an apologetic look. “If you think it’s really Calypso stalling us, there’s ways we can get around it. Magic she can’t control, or interfere with.”

Elizabeth shot a small smile back at Will for the first time since she’d seen him.

“Show me.”

 

* * *

 

 Armando sat heavily in the chair in the Captain’s cabin.

 _You’ll need to sleep soon,_ Henry told him.

“Nonsense, Niñito.” Armando stifled a yawn. “There’ll be time to sleep after we have the Trident.”

 _Don’t be an idiot,_ Henry said gently. _You’re not a ghost anymore – or whatever you were before. You’re in a body – my body – and it needs to be looked after._

“I am not an idiot.” Armando stared blankly at the map in front of him. “And trust me, Niñito, I never forget whose body I’m in.”

He tried to focus on the map, but his vision started to blur.

“Please,” Armando rubbed his forehead, “Please don’t do that.”

 _It’s not me,_ Henry chuckled. _It’s tiredness. You know, what you feel right before you decide to get some sleep?_

“Hmph.” Armando stubbornly leaned forward, and studied the map, ignoring the light-headedness that was slowly enveloping him.

_And while we’re on it, when was the last time you ate? More than a plum, I mean._

“I don’t need more. I am fine.”

Henry sighed. _You must’ve been a difficult child._

“I was a model child.” He argued. “I was everything my father wanted me to be. Disciplined, quiet, uncomplaining…”

Armando’s vision started to become unfocused, even as he sought to concentrate on tracing their course on the map before him.

 _Is your…_ Henry paused. _Do you think they’re still alive? Your parents?_

Armando squeezed his eyes shut. “Silencio.” His eyes felt curiously hot. Annoyed, he rubbed hard at them. “I do not wish to speak of them.”

_But… don’t you want to know? I mean, what if they are? Don’t you want to –_

“Silencio!” Armando leant back in his chair. “I said I do not wish to speak of them!”

His breath was ragged, as though his chest was being gripped in a tight vise.

Something hot trickled down his cheek.

Confused, he reached up.

His fingers came away wet.

Tears.

He was crying.

He, Capitán Armando Salazar, was crying.

 _Oh…_ Henry’s surprise and sympathy filled Armando’s mind. _Oh, I’m so sorry…I didn’t know. They're... they're gone, aren't they?_

In a rage, Armando shoved the chair back and stood.

“Sí, Niñito, well, now you know! They _are_ gone! My parents are dead!” he cried. “Do you understand? They are _dead_.”

_Armando, I didn’t mean –_

“My mother died a whore, and I killed my father for the sake of my mother’s honour. Satisfied?”

Henry was silent.

Armando looked down. His hands were shaking. He leant heavily on the table, suppressing the anguish that was making the blood rage through him, calming the quickened heart they shared from beating faster, and took several deep and even breaths.

And, over the top of everything, he felt Henry’s quiet sorrow and gentle pity.

He hated it.

“Do not pity me, Niñito.” Armando said coolly. “I will not lie to you: I cannot wait for the moment I take the Trident. I cannot _wait_ to have my own body back. Your compassion revolts me. Your…” he swallowed. “ _Humanity_ , is disgusting. Keep it for yourself. The Virgin Mother knows you need it, with your own father.”

Armando deliberately thought again of the face he’d inadvertently seen in the boy’s memories, Henry’s father’s white face, encrusted with living anemones, hair soaked from the sea.

_That’s not fair!_

“What kind of father ever leaves his wife and child to suffer alone?” Armando said quietly. “What father doesn’t move heaven and earth to break his own curse? Who prefers years with the cold heartless sea, instead of fighting with everything he has for the warmth of his own wife and son?”

Henry didn’t answer.

Armando turned and walked stiffly towards the bed, resolutely ignoring Henry’s silent hurt as he lay down and closed his eyes.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armando's brief words about his parents in this chapter are in no way original, but lifted from the novelisation of Dead Men Tell No Tales. 
> 
> (I have written other snippets of Armando's backstory in other fics, prior to being aware there was even a novelisation of the movie; and in those fics explored different ideas about what his relationship with his parents might have been like – though I still headcanon they weren't the best or most loving of parents)
> 
>  
> 
> I have to say that in general I would find it difficult to write anything about Armando Salazar without mentioning the childhood he must've gone through. From the very first time I watched DMTNT, I always thought his entire dedication to eradicating pirates absolutely has to stem from his relationship with his father, and that was even before I read anything on him, canon-wise or fanfic-wise…
> 
> And lastly, I'm … I'm sorry about the food porn. I try not to be crack- y (and I do love crack-fic) but really… we have to give Armando a break. He hasn't had any real food or water for decades (he and Barbossa would have a lot to talk about, if and when they ever do meet!), and to him, even the blandest food would taste delicioso…


	22. The Spirits Aren't Willing (But The Rum Is)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angry Carina decides to talk to Jack; Will explains the stones to Elizabeth, who uses them to call for help against Calypso; and Armando dreams the same dreams as Henry...
> 
> (The first time I posted this chapter, I’d cut short Jack’s conversations with Carina; but have since decided to include the complete conversation after all… my apologies, hopefully it enhances rather than detracts from what follows)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Ashleye!  
> I'm sorry there's not more Armando and Carina in this chapter... but there will be more soon! Hope you have a fantastic birthday!  
> (Everyone check out https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashleye/pseuds/Ashleye, with the awesome Buffy/Harry Potter crossover fic!)

Exhausted, Jack had fallen into an uncomfortable sleep.

And he dreamt.

He dreamt of white sands.

Of rocks that were crabs.

Of _her_.

But then, he always dreamt of her.

Of her leaning over him, long hair brushing against his arms as she dipped that precious pout down to his chest.

Of gentle nights, holding her as they talked and talked and talked, of everything and nothing, his fingers twisting a lock of her hair around and around a lock of his own, silky gold strands through dark, _the sun shining in the blackest of nights_ , he’d tell her.

Of vicious nights, where she would bind him to the bed, and hiss that she'd kill him before she’d let him leave her, and make him keen in mingled pleasure and desperation as she rode him relentlessly like the wild dark creature she truly was.

 _You’re the sun, Jack, not me,_ she’d tell him. _You’re my sun._

Jack slowly came to consciousness, still tied to the mast, his legs and arms numb beyond the point of even feeling pain, throat dry and back sore.

He groaned, wishing he could return to that magnificent land of sleep, where he could be lying, once more, tangled up in bed with his Elizabeth.

 

* * *

 

Carina stood, just outside the cabin, fists clenched, the words Armando had just spoken turning over and over in her mind like a leaf caught in an unrelenting eddy of water: _not until after we have the Trident. Not until after we have the Trident…_

How stupid did he think she was?

Involuntarily, a dream-like vision of his heart-meltingly soft eyes rose up in her mind, and she wanted to spit in disgust.

How dare he.

How _dare_ he!

She willed the stupid hot tears away.

She'd practically thrown herself at him, offered herself up, just like the whore Scarfield had accused her of being – and he'd turned her away. And in that moment, she suddenly realised what she should've realised all along: _El Capitán_ was playing her. He was reeling her in, like a mindless carp, keeping her close enough that she'd keep leading him, unquestioningly, to the Trident – but still far enough away that he didn't have to commit himself to anything. She'd seen men do exactly this all her life – especially well-to-do gentlemen with pretty but penniless girls – and she'd always held herself above it all, scorning those deceitful gentlemen, deeming herself far too intelligent to fall for such flirtations... never imagining she would one day be one of those self-same twits that fell for their –

"Utter _tripe_!" She muttered savagely.

 

* * *

 

 Elizabeth picked up the small leather bag, and tipped its contents onto the table.

Several stones with holes in them tumbled out, most of them white – except for one large smooth black one. She picked this one up, feeling its weight in her hand. The hole in its centre was almost unnaturally even, running in a near-perfect circle; and there was something indefinably wistful about holding it... like a pleasant dream.

“What _are_ these?” She asked Will.

“I don’t really know what they’re called.” Will shrugged. “The woman who gave them to me – it was hard to understand what she called them – something in Gallic, I think… but she said they were very powerful stones.”

Still holding the black one, Elizabeth ran a finger over the other stones… and a strange prickling behind her eyes made her blink.

“How did she die?” Elizabeth asked.

Will swallowed, but appeared unsurprised by her question.

“She’d drowned herself in the sea. Said it was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Threw herself in and had to argue with the spirits of the water to take her life,” Will was quiet for a moment, staring at the stones. “Said that the spirits only listened to her because they pitied her. She’d done it to escape some evil men who wanted to rape her… and take the stones for themselves.”

Elizabeth looked up sharply at that, her expression angry.

“She was a virgin.” Will went on. “She lived on the Ile de Sein with eight other virgin women. One night they were attacked; so she took the stones and ran. She said all she wanted to do was keep it away from those men, and she asked me to keep them. Said she no longer needed them where she was going, but that one day I would need them.”

Elizabeth closed the black stone in her fist. “So how do we use them?”

 

* * *

 

Carina stamped away from the cabin door out onto the deck, blinking her eyes fiercely.

 _I will not cry_ , she told herself angrily. _He isn't worth it._

Once again, the memory of his beautiful eyes invaded her mind, and the way his lips would move when he called her _mi Ángel..._

"Mi Ángel," She muttered angrily. "My _arse_!"

She had half a mind to turn right back around and march back in there and grab him by his stupid face and –

She heard the sound of a soft footfall behind her and whirled, sure it was _him._

"If you think for one moment I'm going to accept _any_ sort of apology –" Carina began.

“Uh?” It was Gibbs, staring at her with startled eyes. “Sorry, m’lady?”

His fist was closed about a bottle of rum, and he looked suspiciously like he had been trying to sneak past her.

“Where did you get that?” Carina asked, rage making her imperious.

“It's – it’s –” he stuttered.

“I thought El Capitán ordered all the rum to be thrown overboard to lighten the weight?”

Gibbs’ eyes grew even wider. “Uh, and yes, Miss – I mean, m’lady, so he did, but this here is… is a bottle of… tea. Cold tea. I take it to… to calm my poor stomach,” he made a show of wincing and resting his free hand on his stomach, as though in pain.

“Oh don’t be stupid.” Carina rolled her eyes. “I know it’s rum, now give it here.”

Shoulders slumping, Gibbs handed her the bottle. Carina pulled the cork out, took a large gulp, coughed as it burned her throat and made her eyes water, and then flapped her hand as she choked out at him, “Now go – go away.”

Gibbs stared. “You – you won’t be tellin’ El Capitán will you, m’lady?”

Carina drew herself up in a highly dignified way - as much as anyone who has just had a coughing fit can – and said, “About your cold tea, Mr. Gibbs? Whyever would I bother the great _El Capitán_ _Diablo_ about that?”

“M-many thanks, m’lady.” Gibbs was relieved.

“Not at all, Mr. Gibbs.”

“Well,” he looked around, “I’d best be going – day's still young, many things to do…”

Gibbs began to furtively creep back down below deck again.

“More bottles of ‘cold tea’ to sneak past El Capitán’s cabin?” Carina arched an eyebrow.

Gibbs froze. “I – I don’t know what you mean, m’lady…”

“Of course you don’t,” she smirked, “Never fear, El Capitán isn’t going to notice. After all, his thoughts are on nothing else except the Trident.” She turned bitterly away. “It’s the only thing he cares about.”

She lifted the bottle of rum and forced herself to take another swig as she walked across the deck.

It was awful.

She tried not to cough, but her throat was convulsing and her stomach was not helping matters either, sloshing the foreign liquid about as though trying to determine its atomic composition through accelerated velocity.

She wondered for a moment what El Capitán would say if he came out of his cabin now, and saw her.

Rebelliously, Carina took another, even larger swig of rum.

 _Getting drunk over a man,_ her inner voice said sadly. _My, how you've fallen._

"Ugh, shut up!" She told herself. "I'll do what I want!"

She tipped the rum up completely and practically poured it down her throat. At least it was starting to go down a little easier.

 _Probably because you've permanently burned your throat beyond the ability to feel pain_ , the sad voice said.

“Careful, love,” called a different voice. “You might wanna go easy. ‘Specially if it’s yer first time.”

Carina turned and grimaced when she realised who was speaking.

“Jack Sparrow.”

“Captain,” he corrected.

She laughed dryly. “Not anymore.”

“Well, that there is simply a matter of perspective.”

Carina lurched over to him, the rum already affecting her – or the waves, of course it must be the waves, she told herself – making her a little more unsteady than usual.

"Well, tied up to that mast, I suppose you'd know all about persetic - perseptic -" Carina frowned. She couldn't remember having such trouble speaking before. "Per-spec-tive." She said slowly.

"Yeah..." Jack drawled, watching her with amusement.

Carina looked up at him, and a sudden idea came into her mind.

“Tell me.” She planted herself firmly in front of him. “What do _you_ know about El Capitán?”

Jack tilted his head back. “Well, that depends.”

“On?”

“What I get in return.”

Carina held up the rum bottle.

“I’m cheap,” Jack shook his head. “But I’m not _that_ cheap.”

“Oh, well,” Carina tipped the rum bottle back, making a show of drinking as she slowly began to turn away.

Jack wet his lips with his tongue.

“You know, I’m not a connoisseur,” she said over her shoulder, “But this isn’t that bad… it’s definitely growing on me.”

She went to lift the bottle up to her lips again.

Jack surrendered.

“Alright, alright, give me the bottle, I’ll tell you what I know.”

“I give you one mouthful,” Carina held up an unsteady finger, “And you tell me everything.”

“What?” Jack frowned. “That’s not fair!”

Carina started to walk away again.

“One mouthful, one question!” Jack said quickly.

Carina pretended to think about it. “A mouthful for every question you answer…”

Jack glanced down at the rum bottle dangling by its neck in her fingers. “That’s pretty fair!”

Finally, Carina nodded. “Fine. First question: why does he want to kill you?”

“Straight to the meat then," Jack grinned.

Carina shook the rum at him impatiently. "Answer me!"

"Well… I kind of – destroyed his ship. And… his life.”

Carina paused. “Well, that’ll do it.”

"Rum time, now," Jack pouted his lips.

 

* * *

 

“There’s two things we must do.” Will said. “First, the white stones have to be tied or nailed around the edges of the ship; they’ll protect us against anything else Calypso tries to do to stop us. Then the Captain of the ship has to address the spirits of the water, and ask for their help.”

“And what do I say?” Elizabeth asked. “Is there a special spell I have to say?”

“No.” Will shook his head. “I asked her the same, and she said that words alone are powerful enough already, especially when the intent behind them is strong. She said the simpler the words, the more you’re able to focus your intent – and the more powerful the magic becomes.”

“Let there be light,” Elizabeth murmured.

“What?” Will asked.

“In Genesis.” She looked up at him with another wry smile. “Didn’t you pay attention in church, Will Turner?”

Will smiled wryly back. “I didn’t go to church to listen to sermons. I went to church… because it was the only time I could look at you without being caught.”

“It was a long time ago, wasn’t it... for both of us.” Elizabeth looked back down at the stones. “But it just made me think of it. God didn’t use any fancy words, no rhymes… just four simple words, let there be light… and there was light.”

She stood, and swept all the white stones back into the leather pouch, and tossed it to Will. “I want you to secure all the white stones around the ship. When it’s done, I’ll start.”

She turned to leave the cabin, before halting.

“Will?”

“Yes?”

She held the black stone up. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“That… that’s the seeing stone. If you look through the hole in the centre, it allows you to see the true nature of everything – and everyone – around you.”

Elizabeth held it up and studied it, her mouth in a perfect circle of concentration.

Without warning, she closed one eye and held it up, peering through it at Will.

“Hmmm,” was all she said.

 

* * *

 

Jack closed his eyes as he swallowed the rum, enjoying it in a way that reminded Carina rather heatedly of the way Armando ate, and she snatched it away.

"That's enough of that!" She snapped.

“Oi! I was enjoying that –”

“Next question." She interrupted. "You know who he is, don’t you?”

"Well, he's El Capitán, innit he?"

Carina stamped her foot in frustration. "I mean who he _really_ is!" 

Jack paused.

For a moment, he seemed to be thinking about lying.

But then a slow smile spread over his lips.

“Yeah.” His gold tooth glinted. “I know who he is.”

“And?”

“That’s a different question.”

“What?”

“You said, one question, one mouthful of rum.”

Scowling, Carina tipped more rum in his mouth.

“Mmmmm,” Jack swallowed.

“Shut _up_.” Carina hissed. "Can't you men ever just do normal things _normally_?"

"Is that the question?" Jack grinned.

“Just do it without… without making any noises.”

"Funny, first time I ever had a lady say that," Jack winked at Carina's look of complete incomprehension. "Usually it's _me_ saying that to the lady."

There was a pregnant pause as Carina's sluggish mind worked over Jack's meaning.

Finally, she got it.

"Oh my god..." she stuttered. “You – _oh my god!"_

Jack shrugged – or at least shrugged as much as he could, seeing as he was still tightly bound to the mast. "Now they _do_ say that."

"I have had," Carina stabbed at Jack with her finger, "Jusht about enough of your - innuendo, shir-sir. Now. Are you going to answer my question, or not?"

"Sorry love," Jack grinned. "What question was this one, then?"

Carina was mad. “Just – bloody – tell me, who is he!”

“You’re not going to believe me.”

" _Tell me_!"

“Alright,” Jack pretended resignation. “But you’re not going to like the answer.”

 

* * *

 

Elizabeth stood at the prow of the Wicked Wench.

Staring out across the grey waters, her loud voice sliced clearly through the eerie silence.

“I call upon the spirits of the sea to help me against Calypso.”

For a long moment, there was no sound on board. No one dared speak.

Will started to feel uneasy.

Elizabeth tried again. "I call upon _all_ the spirits of the sea, to destroy all obstacles Calypso has placed before us."

Still nothing.

Will looked up. 

A mist was beginning to descend slowly upon the ship, swirling and thickening until the sun above was completely blocked out.

Seemingly unaware of the mist, Elizabeth held the black rock up impatiently to her eye, peering through the hole at the waters around her. 

Something bumped into the side of the ship.

Elizabeth paled, and stepped back from the prow.

The crew murmured.

"Quiet," Will commanded, eyes on Elizabeth. "Steady, men."

The sea around them began to churn, small foaming waves at first, that grew in size until they were splashing with greater and greater force against the hull, as though something - or some _things_ \- were thrashing fast just under the surface of the waters.

The spirits were _angry_.

"Spirits of the sea," Elizabeth cried over the crash of the waves and the spray of saltwater on the deck, "I am Elizabeth Swann, King of the Pirates -"

The ship rose and fell violently, its hull creaking in protest, and the sails whipped violently.

"You're making them angrier!" Will shouted at Elizabeth.

"What do I do?" She shouted back desperately. "I don't know what to say!"

"Tell them what you want!"

Elizabeth wiped a stinging spray of seawater from her face. "What?"

"Simple words, remember?" Will cried. "From your heart!"

"I'm sorry!" Elizabeth pleaded, shouting into the churning grey, "I'm just - _I need to see my son!_ "

At once, the raging of the sea ceased.

A cold chill enveloped the ship.

Elizabeth had sagged to her knees, wet hair plastered to her pale face, her face on the verge of dissolving into a terrible despair Will had never seen before.

“Please," Elizabeth whispered hoarsely in the sudden silence, "I love my son..."

The Wicked Wench II was still.

And then, slowly, it began to pick up speed, as though being pushed through the waters...

 

* * *

 

“Bloody...hell." Carina took another slow pull of rum. "Bloody... hellllll..."

She rolled heavily against the mast.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya." Jack said. “I _said_ you wouldn’t like it.”

"I nearly..." She said, her voice muffled. "I nearly... oh, god."

"Well," Jack sighed. "Sometimes these things can't be helped."

Carina slid to the deck, staring into space. "So... if he's... dead..."

She stared some more, before suddenly straightening.

"So how come he doesn't _look_ dead?" she said loudly. “He doesn’t look… ghost-like at all.”

"Well, that part's obvious, isn't it?" Jack said, exasperated. "He's taken over some poor bloke's body."

Carina's lip curled in disgust. "That is revolting!"

"Well," Jack mused. "Maybe. But not a bad looking body, so you can't really blame him."

"I nearly kissed him!"

"Really?" Jack looked at her with interest. "That so?"

"But it wouldn't have been him! It would've been another man's lips – and not his – and –”

Suddenly she froze.

"Oh." She said in a small voice.

"Oh?"

"Oh." She repeated. "So _that's_ why...”

The look of revelation slowly gave way to a grim rage.

“That utter... _bastard_.”

Jack blinked. “Eh?”

“Why couldn’t he trust me to tell the truth! Why couldn’t he…” she stood – or rather swayed – clumsily to her feet. “I’m going to – I’m going to give him… such a piece of my mind…” She leant on the mast. “Just as soon as I’m… slightly less… drunk.”

She slid heavily onto the deck again.

"So…" Jack looked hopefully at the slumped woman at his feet. "Any chance I could have me some more rum?"

 

* * *

 

Exhausted, Armando had long since fallen into an uneasy sleep.

And he dreamt.

He dreamt of a cottage.

Of weeping in the dark.

He dreamt of a beautiful woman, with sun-brightened hair and dark eyes, crouching down to stroke his hair and tell him, “Your father will be back one day, Henry. But I can’t wait for him.”

Of her sitting, cross-legged, eyes out to the horizon as she drew him into her lap; of her laughing as he tried to tickle her with his small fingers, holding him tightly until he gave up, and then whispering in his ear, “How would you like to be a cabin-boy?”

Of watching her on a ship, long hair stuffed under a pirate’s hat, climbing the rigging like she was born to it, a dagger held between her teeth as she moved quickly up the ropes.

And then of her, eyes wet, while he told her, “I’m sorry, mother. I have to.”

Of her pleading – and it was so hard for her to plead, he could see – for him not to go. “Henry, I can help you find it. Why won’t you let me help you?”

And him, head bowed, whispering, “I love you. I love you, mother, but I can’t be in your shadow all my life. You found your own destiny.” Looking up at her. “Let me find mine.”

And her, a single tear tracking down her cheek, suddenly pulling him close, and telling him roughly, “Go then.”

Armando slowly came to consciousness to the sound of heavy thumps outside the cabin.

He turned restlessly, tangled in sheets, his arms and legs sluggish, throat dry and eyes sore.

More heavy thumps.

 _What the bloody hell?_ Henry complained. _What’s going on?_

Armando groaned, and closed his eyes, wishing he could sleep more, but the banging on the cabin door increased in fervour.

“El Capitán!” Came Gibbs’ urgent cry. “El Capitán! We are being boarded!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'witch' who gave Will Turner the stones was actually a Gallic druidess, sometimes referred to as the Gallizanae or Gallisenae. They lived on the Ile de Sein, off the coast of Pante du Raz, Finistere, Brittany. First mentioned by Geographer Artemidorus Ephesisus, and later Strabo, they were reputedly endowed with the power to rouse the sea and wind by their incantations.
> 
> The pebbles with the naturally worn holes in them are sometimes called hag stones; fishermen occasionally tied them to the bow of their fishing boats in some cultures to protect them against malevolent witchcraft. The other myth associated with hag stones was that through the holes in these stones you could see the otherwise invisible magical realm – the fae, secret doorways, supernatural creatures, etc.
> 
> A brief word on the druids; generally druids didn’t seem to try to bend the world to their liking, but instead would ask permission of the spirits and elements around them to discover if their wishes would be accommodated first, before they cast a magic spell. Politeness and true humility (humility being the acceptance of your own limits in the moment) went a long way.
> 
> I just thought I would mention this difference between the druidic idea of magic, the idea that you would work alongside your environment, as opposed to the current mainstream literary idea that magic is used over your surroundings or against them, influenced I suppose by Harry Potter verse, where magic is treated with either a degree of irreverence (think the Weasley brothers), a practical convention (most witches and wizards) or as an entitled right (classic example, Voldemort).


	23. El Capitán Diablo and The Pirate King

Armando leant back from his cabin window, watching as the massive prow of the Wicked Wench II dwarfed the Dying Gull portside. He’d observed the way the Wicked Wench’s sails had hung limply as it pulled up beside them, in spite of their incredible speed, with the same strange prickling across his scalp and down his back that he was beginning to recognise – a prickling he only felt when there was another supernatural presence nearby.

Whatever was giving the Wicked Wench II its speed was not wind or current – certainly nothing from nature.

 _We are in so much trouble,_ Henry said quietly, images of a battle-hardened blonde woman with a determined face filling Armando's thoughts

"Your mother, Niñito...?" Armando chided softly.

 _I – I –_ Henry stammered.

“So you have known this whole time? And yet you said nothing.”

 _I was going to tell you,_ Henry was defensive, _until you were such a bastard to me!_

Armando snorted. “It is not me who is the bastard. Your father –”

_Go to hell, old man!_

“Ah, Niñito.” Armando shook his head. “I fear things are indeed about to ‘go to hell’.” He studied the ship through the salt-crusted glass again. “You really should’ve told me.”

_And why would I tell the great Capitán Armando Salazar, slayer of pirates, that my own mother’s the Pirate King?_

“More to the point, that your mother is the Captain of the pirate ship that has been pursuing _us_ this entire time.” Armando shook his head. “Really, Niñito, I am surprised at you.”

Henry’s panic turned sulky. _I’m not the only one who’s been keeping secrets._

“I do not keep secrets,” Armando responded.

_No? You keep secrets from Carina. I didn’t stop you from telling her about us!_

“That is different.” Armando turned away from the window. “And this is not the moment to discuss such matters.”

Outside, they could hear fierce shouts and the sounds of grappling hooks hitting the Dying Gull’s rails, and Henry’s panic washed through Armando again.

_What are we going to do?_

“First things first,” Armando crossed the cabin to the small armoire. “Since I am to meet your mother, I’d best dress for the occasion, don’t you think?”

Henry and Armando regarded the contents of the armoire in mutual silence.

 _You’re not really going to wear… that, are you?_ Henry asked.

“When in Rome,” Armando sighed, and reached for the clothes.

 

* * *

 

Elizabeth balanced superbly on the wooden railing of the Wicked Wench II, pistol in one hand, sword at her hip, crew brandishing their own swords and shouting fiercely behind her. She swept a lock of stray hair back, and looked grimly at the scene on the deck before her: several pirates, some of whom she vaguely recognised, with their swords and clubs out, lined up against her; a young woman, pale-faced and tight-lipped, standing near a man tied to the mast…

A man who looked disturbingly familiar.

“ _Jack_?” Elizabeth stared. “Jack what the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?”

"Why am I not surprised," Will said grimly.

“What, not even a sorry?” Jack rolled his eyes. “Not even an ‘I missed you, I shouldn’t have told you to go, I’m sorry darling for –’”

“Shut up!” Elizabeth snapped.

She turned her attention back to the crew of the Dying Gull.

“I am your King.” She stated coldly. “I order you to drop your weapons!”

But the crew did not appear sufficiently impressed: not a one of them even so much as faltered in their grip.

“It is not my intention to spill pirate blood today,” Elizabeth said loudly, “But if you do not drop your weapons, I will have no choice.”

“Steady men,” Scrum said to the others. “She may be King, but she ain’t got no power like El Capitán.”

“Uh, Elizabeth,” Jack called, “Might be a good idea for you to –”

“By right of the Brethren Court,” Elizabeth cried, “Your King commands you! And my power is greater than any Captain of yours! This is your last chance!”

“If we die, we die.” Pike said solemnly, and held his sword up.

“That’s right,” said Jib. “El Capitán will take care of our souls.”

“And our mother’s souls!” added Bollard, and raised his club menacingly.

“Hear, hear!” The whole crew of the Gull shouted. “For El Capitán!”

Elizabeth experienced a moment of complete bewilderment.

Never in her life had she observed so much loyalty – from pirates, of all people – to any Captain. “Who _is_ this El Capitán?”

“Perdón, Señora,” came a smooth Spanish voice. “But my men are not to be blamed for their loyalty. For what would it gain them to obey you, and lose their souls?”

And Henry strode out onto the deck.

The young woman by the mast gasped and blushed, her gaze riveted on Elizabeth's son.

Not that Elizabeth could blame her.

For Henry looked handsomer than Elizabeth had ever seen her son. And he had dressed himself uncharacteristically almost all in black – black boots, black britches, a black long-coat over his half-open shirt… even his hair was smoothly tied back by a scrap of black velvet.

He looked every inch the wicked pirate captain.

He looked completely unlike her son.

“Henry?” Will looked uncertainly at him. “Henry, what are you doing? Tell your crew to surrender. It’s me… your father.”

The young lady's eyes grew even wider. “Your _what_?”

Jack looked – if not entirely surprised – at least very interested.

“Ah. Thought he looked familiar.” He winked slyly at Elizabeth. “Has the same eyes as his mother.”

The young lady turned to stare at Elizabeth now.

Elizabeth ignored both her and Jack, as she regarded her son in silence.

It wasn’t just that she’d never seen Henry dress like that before.

Or walk like that.

Or stand still like that.

It was none of that – and yet all of it together.

Henry was authoritative, calm, with an air of maturity far beyond her son’s years… and when he looked at her… for a heart-clenching moment, Elizabeth remembered the fresh-faced eager boy who’d said farewell before setting off on his own to find the Trident, and wondered what had happened to change him into the stern man before her...

Until a curious realisation, a slow look of recognition came across that stern face, but in such an _unfamiliar_ arrangement of her son’s features, that it made her breath stop in fear.

She didn’t want to.

She was afraid to.

But almost before she put the black stone up to her eye, and squinted at her son through the hole in its centre, she already knew.

It wasn’t her son.

It wasn’t Henry.

For a hideous moment, Elizabeth stared without breathing, before lowering the stone.

Her eyes were almost black with the fury contained within, and when she spoke it was with great difficulty.

“If it weren’t for the fact that you are in my son’s body,” she said, “I would kill you where you stood, El Matador Del Mar.”

Will went pale, and gaped at his son – or at least the man he'd thought was his son.

“Your ‘El Capitán’ is a liar!” Elizabeth addressed the Gull’s crew loudly. “He is no man at all, but an evil that has possessed the body of my son.”

Bollard rolled his eyes. “Well, we kinda knew _that_ already.”

“What?” Will and Elizabeth both stared.

"Aye," Gibbs said unhappily, "We already know he's the Devil, bit late to be tellin' us now."

"H-how?" Elizabeth asked.

“Well, it’s like this, see,” Jib explained. “Me brother's a priest, an' he says that every now an’ then, the Devil gets a bit bored of hell, so up he comes, an’ possesses someone, an’ goes around getting people to sell their souls an’ such.”

“Not that I’ve sold _my_ soul,” Scrum added firmly, “But if I have t’choose between upsettin’ you an’ upsettin’ the Devil –”

“ _And_ his Lady Carina!” Pike interjected, with a side eye at the young lady still standing stiffly at the mast.

Carina angrily folded her arms at being referred to as El Capitán's lady, and resolutely turned her face away from them all.

"Hear, hear," said Jack, grinning at Elizabeth. " _Never_ upset a lady!"

Both El Capitán and Elizabeth sent him a look, which Jack cheerfully ignored.

"Not smart, upsettin' a powerful witch, that's what me mum would say." Bollard nodded.

"So we're on El Capitán's side til death," Scrum nodded, “If yer see what I mean.”

Elizabeth was speechless.

“But your Captain used to murder pirates!” Will cried. “And now you follow him?”

The crew of the Gull made no move to surrender.

“Not much different from any other Cap’n,” Marty shrugged.

“El Matador Del Mar.” Elizabeth sneered. “The Butcher, now become the very thing he used to despise? How poetic.”

If Armando was angered by that, he did not show it. “You do not know me at all, Señora.”

“And you do not know _me_.”

Armando looked at her – the woman who’d been a constant motif in his recent dreams. Even dressed as she was, he would’ve recognised her anywhere: Henry’s mother.

It was taking all his willpower to resist Henry’s overwhelming desire to collapse to his knees and beg clemency of his mother; Henry was so panicked now he could not even formulate a clear sentence in Armando’s mind, not even his usual witty banter.

Armando decided to keep speaking for them both.

“But I _do_ know you. Henry dreams of his mother constantly. Even now I know he would greatly prefer me not to anger you.”

“Oh? And what else does he tell you?” Elizabeth asked dangerously.

Armando paused, as several rapid images from Henry’s boyish memories flitted through his mind – including a memory of the only time Henry managed to sneak a glimpse of Jack Sparrow – at night, leaving their home, shoulders hunched, trudging away into the darkness, while his mother looked on resolutely with a tight jaw and tear-streaked cheeks, holding a small black compass-box in her hand. It was a strange memory, one Henry himself still viewed with the eyes of the boy he’d been – but Armando knew instinctively there was more to the Sparrow’s history with Henry’s mother than Henry had yet realised.

“That the Sparrow once saved your life,” Armando answered evenly. “For that, as well as for the fact that you are Henry’s mother, I will spare you.”

“You will spare me?” She laughed softly. “I rather think, El Capitán, it is _I_ who must consider sparing you.”

“Perdón, but you must spare me, I think.”

“Why? Because you possess the body of my son?” 

“And because your son and I have reached an accord.” He responded. “We seek the Trident of Poseidon together. He wants it to free his father, I want it to free myself.”

“Oh, I see. A mutually beneficial arrangement, is it?”

“It is.”

“So I suppose you asked my son’s permission before you took his body?” She said scornfully. “Asked him politely, over tea and crumpets perhaps?”

Armando could practically feel Henry curling up even tighter than before, as though recognising just what that particular tone of voice from his mother led to.

“It was a regrettable situation,” Armando conceded. “But I do not regret making your son’s acquaintance.”

“Oh, how very lovely of you to say,” Elizabeth’s voice was a finely honed sting.

“Indeed. However,” he glanced over the starboard side of the Gull. “I would suggest we delay this discussion for a better time.”

Elizabeth followed Armando’s glance.

The Essex, following in the Wicked Wench’s wake, had also gathered speed, and was rapidly approaching the Gull. It hadn’t drawn about yet to prepare to fire its cannons, but Elizabeth knew it wouldn’t take long. They had bare minutes before they would be in range.

“Then I suppose we are at an impasse.” Elizabeth smiled suddenly.

Armando raised an eyebrow.

“Either you and your crew surrender your arms and agree to board my ship as my prisoners…” she let her words linger. “Or you stay aboard your tub and bear the brunt of the Essex on our behalf, while we sail safely away.”

“Or,” Armando replied evenly. “You leave your rotting hulk of a boat, and board my vessel as _my_ prisoners.” He smiled back at Elizabeth. “After all, mine has frequently proven itself the faster vessel.”

“Your – _vessel_ – is nothing compared to mine for speed!” Elizabeth snapped.

“And yet your ship needed assistance to catch mine!” Armando retorted.

“Look behind, you, El Capitán. The Essex is only interested in _you_. It’s trapping you between my ship and theirs." Elizabeth laughed mockingly. "The Dying Gull is doomed. And you will be too if you stay on it.”

“Men!” Armando ordered curtly. “Prepare to sail!”

At once, the men began to cut at the ropes of the grappling hooks anchoring their boat to the Wicked Wench.

Elizabeth didn’t hesitate. Lifting a pistol, she aimed and shot. The bullet ricocheted off a hook, stinging Scrum’s hand.

“Ow!” he cried, sucking a cut on his thumb.

Armando cursed abruptly in Spanish – and disappeared.

Elizabeth blinked.

He reappeared at her side.

Armando was balancing on the edge of the Wicked Wench with as much enviable ease as she herself did, and pointing a dagger at her throat.

“Fire at my crew again, King of Pirates, and I will make you regret it – no matter what your son says!”

Will aimed a pistol at Armando.

“Threaten my wife again, and you’ll be short a head.”

“Wife?” Armando sneered. “ _Wife_? She is not your wife.”

“She is.”

“No, no, no, no.” Armando turned with ease, blade still at Elizabeth’s throat, to face Will. “She stopped being your wife long ago. As well she should – since you lacked the courage to break your own curse and be the husband a woman deserves, the father Henry needed.”

“What do you know about it?” Will said hoarsely.

“What do I know about it?” he looked at Will with disdain. “Henry dreams.”

Elizabeth went pale, as though frightened by a realisation from Armando's words, but he was not looking at her.

“And in his dreams, it is his mother who is always there. Not you. Never you. It is not your son that should be trying to make things right. It is not the son’s place to try and help the father. It is _you_ who should be finding the Trident. It is you, who should be risking his life, out of love for this woman and her son.”

Will lowered the pistol, his jaw tight and his eyes painfully wet.

“Uh,” Jack cleared his throat loudly. “Sorry to break up the - er, wonderful self-epiphanies we’re having here… but we’ve got a little problem.”

The Essex had turned broadside, 42 pounder cannons pushed through its open ports and aimed at the Dying Gull.

 

 

 


	24. Attack On The Gull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Essex fires its cannons at the Gull, Elizabeth tries to threaten violence to force Armando to surrender, and Carina briefly has a moment or two to tell Armando exactly how she feels...

With an ear-splitting crack, cannon fire clipped the top of the Gull's main mast, showering splinters onto the deck.

"Bloody hell!" Jack shouted underneath. "Can someone - _please_ \- get me out of here!"

Armando turned in time to see Carina swiftly disappear below deck, and his men take cover as the Essex's cannons continued to fire high, aiming at their sails.

"Mierda!" he cursed. "¡Estamos lisiados!"

"We have no more time!" Elizabeth shouted over the noise to him. "Get your men and get on board!"

Armando shook his head. "I will never surrender my men to you!"

Before Elizabeth could argue, he disappeared at once and reappeared on the deck of the Gull.

"Damn him!" she muttered, and rounded on her crew. "Haul anchor!" She shouted.

Turning to three of her strongest crew, Elizabeth commanded, "Go get him! I want El Capitán on my ship. I don't care what it takes, just get him back here alive!"

 

* * *

 

As the first barrage of cannon fire ended, Armando forced himself to remain calm, his gaze measuring the damage through the cannon smoke about him.

Internally, Henry continued to be silent.

"Yer couldn't see yer way to lettin' me go, could yer?" Jack suggested as Armando's searching look swept past him.

"You, Sparrow?" Armando sneered. "No."

Suddenly, a heavy thump of boots onto the Gull's deck behind them made Armando half-turn to see three of the Wench's crew advancing towards them.

"Looks like yer might be needing some help there," Jack grinned. "If you let me go, I could –"

"Help?" Armando mocked as he turned to face the three pirates. "From the Sparrow?"

The largest of the pirates stepped forward in front of the others, a longsword in hand and a nasty grin on his face.

For the first time in his long memory, Armando found himself looking up at someone.

"None of yer tricks, now." The pirate chortled down at him. "How bouts you jus' come along quietly then, eh?"

Armando tilted his head. "I think, Niñito, these pirates are not wise."

 _Couldn't care less_ , Henry snapped.

"Niñito?"

_I don't want to talk to you. You had no right to judge my father like that!_

"I only spoke the truth." Armando said quietly.

 _It's still not your place_!

"Come along now, pretty boy," one of the other pirates whistled and laughed. "Had yer fun on yer toy boat here, time now to come home t'yer mum."

"Home?" Armando could've laughed at the irony. "On a pirate ship?"

 _My mother's ship!_ Henry corrected icily. 

"That's right." The tall one laughed. "Time ter stop playing at being Captain, an' come an' see how a real ship is run!"

"Ah, Niñito," Armando sighed, "Your mother deserves better crew than these idiots."

_You know what, I'm not speaking to you!_

"Better crew? Like you?" They guffawed. "Well, we _might_ let you help out a little, but only if yer a good boy!"

All three pirates laughed uproariously.

Armando smiled back at them. "Más vale ser cabeza de ratón que cola de león."

The large pirate frowned. "What did yer say, pretty boy?"

Armando held his dagger steady, pointed up at the man's throat.

"Come," he invited. "Try."

"You wanna fight with the big men?" The large pirate gripped his longsword in both hands, chuckling. "Alright then, pretty boy, but yer askin' f'it!"

Armando flipped his dagger high in the air.

The pirate lunged in, longsword arcing over his head; but he wasn't focused, torn between watching Armando in front of him and the dagger falling, hilt over blade, above them. Armando caught his dagger, spun to his left, and casually deflected the heavy blow downwards.

The pirate's sword stuck deeply in the deck, where barely a moment ago, Armando had been standing.

As the pirate yanked in confusion at his sword, Armando swiftly delivered a sharp blow with the hilt of his dagger to the large man's head, knocking him unconscious.

As he fell sideways, Armando turned to the others.

"I have no patience. The next one I will kill."

The pirates stared in awed silence at him, and did not move.

Glancing up once at the torn sails fluttering above him, Armando turned and strode fearlessly away towards the ship's wheel.

 

* * *

 

"Bloody hell!" Elizabeth muttered as she watched the useless pirates dragging their unconscious crewmate away. "Always the same. Takes a woman to do the job right!"

She moved to leap over the rail and onto the Gull's deck herself, but Will stopped her.

"No, Elizabeth." He nodded towards the Essex. "They'll fire again!"

Elizabeth looked at him in disbelief.

"Will, you haven't been in battles for a long time - not like I have." She gestured at the sails. "If they wanted the Gull to sink, they wouldn't have shot so high; they would've aimed at the waterline instead."

Will looked quizzically at the shredded rigging and sails of the Gull.

"They don't want to sink it." Elizabeth shook his hand off of her arm. "They just to want to board it."

"Why would they want to do that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Elizabeth pressed her lips together grimly. "They must want something - or someone - on it!"

 

* * *

 

"El Capitán!" Scrum panted up to Armando. "El Capitán, they're reloading their cannons, we can't take another -"

"Go see if Lady Carina is still below deck!" Armando ordered. "And make sure she stays there!"

Scrum went scurrying away at once.

Armando stood at the ship's wheel and eyed the worthless sails again, before calling for Gibbs.

"Master Gibbs!"

"Aye sir!"

"How soon can you prepare the smallboat?"

"Immediately, Capitán."

"And how many can you fit in it?"

"Almost all of us," Gibbs said slowly. "What be your thinking, El Capitán?"

"Take the anchor in the smallboat," Armando ordered. "All of you. Drop it out as far as you can. We need to pull out of their cannon range _inmediatamente_."

"And – er – what be our orders if the Essex fires again afore we get a chance -"

"They won't," Armando cut him off grimly. "Not yet, anyway."

"But, the Essex is –" Gibbs stopped, and at Armando's look, gulped, "Aye, Capitán!"

As Gibbs hurried off to direct the men to prepare the smallboat and secure the anchor, Carina pushed determinedly past him, journal in hand, Scrum desperately plucking at her elbow.

"My lady," Scrum pleaded behind her. "My lady, it's not safe."

"Carina," Armando was stern, "If you will not stay below deck, then follow Master Gibbs into-"

"Don't you _dare_ tell me what to do!" She shoved him back from the wheel. "You – _bastard_!"

Scrum's mouth dropped open.

"Por favor," Armando was momentarily at a loss. "Carina –"

"We're too close to the Trident!" She tapped him hard on the chest with the sharp corner of the journal. "And I am still the Navigator aboard this ship, regardless of who _you_ are, so don't you tell me what to do!"

"Mi Ángel –"

"And don't you _dare_ call me that!" Carina's fury rose. "You call me that again, and I will murder you where you stand, you… you bastard son of a lying, body-stealing… bastard... ghost!"

And with a toss of her hair, she took the wheel.

Armando tilted his head, before leaning in close to her.

"What - " she blushed at his closeness. " _What_ are you doing?"

"Carina…" he breathed in. "Have you… been _drinking_?"

"Well… yes." She leant away from him. "Yes, I have. But it's none of your business what I do anymore, especially after I all but _threw_ myself at you, but _no_ , you didn't want me, and then I find out it's because you're someone else, and _not_ you –"

Armando suddenly pulled her away from the wheel and firmly into his arms.

"I will always want you," he whispered against her lips. "No matter whose body I'm in. I will _always_ want _you_."

"Then why don't you kiss me?" She glared up into the fiery eyes. "I'm sure this… this Henry won't mind."

" _I_ mind," he growled. "I mind very much." He cupped her face. "But I promise you, Carina, I _will_ be the first to kiss you, if that is your wish –"

"Uh…" Scrum cleared his throat. "Hate to interrupt… but…"

 

* * *

 

A dozen of the Wicked Wench II's crew were now boarding the Gull, armed with swords and clubs and guns, shouting and coming straight towards them - led by Elizabeth.

"El Capitán!" Elizabeth made straight up the steps towards the ship's wheel as her men surrounded the Gull's crew. "I am not leaving without my son!"

Armando stood in front of Carina. "And I am not leaving my ship!"

Elizabeth's sword whipped through the air in warning. "If you do not come with me now, I will put to death every single one of your crew!"

"Then you would be making a mistake, Señora." Armando held his dagger defensively. "If you do not let my men go, we will be boarded."

"Then I'll make this quick!"

But before Elizabeth could make a move, there came a cry of terror from the deck below.

Up and over the sides, in the uniforms of British navymen, several inhuman creatures were swarming onto the deck.

They took hold of the closest man to them, a pirate from the Wench, opened their grey mouths wide to show grotesquely enlarged teeth, and clamped down into the screaming man's flesh.

Blood sprayed up into the air, as the pirate fell before their monstrous appetite, the sound of snapping bones clear as the screams ended abruptly in a harsh gurgle.

As one, the rest of the pirates began to hurriedly scramble away back towards the Wench.

"The smallboat!" Gibbs cried, waving his arms at the Gull's crew. "To the smallboat, men!"

A second wave of the hideous creatures swarmed over and past the first, who were still rending huge chunks of flesh from the dead pirate's skeleton on deck, and more pirates fell helplessly under the sheer ferociousness of their hunger.

And that was when Carina saw him.

Standing there, in the midst of the screams and the blood and the fear, looking right at her... was Scarfield.

"No," Carina clutched Armando's arm in horror. "Not him."

"Who, mi Ángel?"

"It's... it's the Lieutenant. Lieutenant Scarfield."

Armando cast a look down at the man - and by the sharp prickling of his skin, knew the Lieutenant was no longer a man. If he ever had been.

 

* * *

 

"Jack!" Elizabeth clutched her sword tightly, her attention entirely on the hapless pirate still bound to the mast.

Several of the creatures had surrounded Jack at the mast, their hollow gazes fixed hungrily on him, hissing in concert with one another.

"Dammit," Elizabeth leapt down the stairs, and began to carve her way towards Jack.

 

* * *

 

"You must get to the smallboat!" Armando turned urgently to Carina.

Carina shook her head. "No!"

"Por favor, mi Ángel, I beg of you," Armando pleaded, pushing her away. "Save yourself!"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

Carina obstinately smacked his hands aside, dropped the journal and took hold of his face. "If I'm going to die, I'd rather die here, _thank_ you very much."

Then she lifted herself up and pressed her lips to his, tasting saltspray and the faintest fragrance of musk in his warm mouth as she thoroughly kissed him.

"There." Carina broke away breathlessly. "Now you've got something to remember me by, if you're ever a stupid ghost again!"

 _Well_.. Henry was stunned into speaking. _That was... that was_...

"He muerto de Nuevo..." Armando whispered reverently, his tongue still tasting the combined richness of rum from Carina's mouth and the enveloping sweetness of her scent.

 _...not bad,_ Henry finished.

"Armando," Carina brushed her fingers caressingly over his cheek. "Armando, I promise you, we're going to find the Trident, we're going to finish this, no matter - "

Suddenly, cold hands clasped her about the waist, dragging her backwards with inhuman speed.

She barely had time to scream, it was that fast.

Armando jerked into action, but several of Scarfield's monstrous creatures had already leapt between him and Carina, blocking his way, as the Lieutenant dragged her, struggling, through the chaos on the deck.

"Carina!"

Armando slashed through the creatures in fury, one hand holding them and their gnashing teeth away, while the other cut and cut and cut through their sluggishly bleeding flesh - but there were too many of them.

Carina turned and tried to punch and hit at Scarfield, even as he squeezed her painfully against him in an iron grip, but to no effect.

"Unhand that Lady!"

It was Scrum, standing between Scarfield and the edge of the Gull's railing, holding a club.

"George!" Carina cried. "Please - "

Scarfield hissed and covered Carina's mouth with his hand.

Scrum stood his ground. "Let 'er go!"

"Stupid pirate," Scarfield rasped, and the sound made Carina shiver.

"I'll give you one chance - " Scrum swung his club in warning.

Scarfield lifted Carina in both his hands and threw her bodily over the railing into the sea below.

Carina had a split second before she hit the water.

She had enough self-awareness to straighten out and hit it feet first.

The water was so cold her entire body seized up from the shock of it.

She sank deeply. So deeply, the unrelenting icy seawater surrounding her in ever diminishing light became a starless expanse of sky, its murk the covering of night clouds, and her pale hand floating before her face like the thin white of the moon.

And she was still sinking, the sodden weight of her dress pulling her down and down.

Looking up, she saw the blurry shadow above her was the bottom of the Gull.

The Gull, where Armando had been fighting to get to her.

And Carina knew she'd be damned if she was going to let herself drown while he fought for her.

Working her numb fingers, Carina tore at the front of her dress, buttons spinning off to slip down into the unfathomable black beneath her. She wriggled and pushed at the tight sleeves, until finally the dress was off, and she was kicking her bare feet, her arms propelling her back up towards the surface, her lungs at breaking point, her need to breathe now agonizingly painful.

She broke the surface of the water, and took in great choking lungfuls of air.

"Miss Smyth..." hissed a voice in the water behind her.

And then the world went dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Mierda ….. you know what this means ; )
> 
> ¡Estamos lisiados! We are crippled!
> 
> Más vale ser cabeza de ratón que cola de león. It’s better to be the head of a rat than the tail of a lion (meaning, Armando would rather be El Capitán of the Gull than Elizabeth’s prisoner)
> 
> Inmediatamente. Immediately
> 
> He muerto de Nuevo. I have died again.
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: On a personal note, Scarfield is the best worst villain I feel like I've ever had the (dis)pleasure to write...


	25. The Dying Gull Is Sunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armando tries to dive into the sea after Carina, but is stopped...

Armando saw Carina thrown over the railing like a rag doll.

Saw Scrum staring, open-mouthed, into the sea as she fell.

And then saw, while Scrum stood there uselessly, Scarfield casually slide in after her.

With renewed fury, Armando slashed through cold flesh, shearing the unendurable seconds away between Carina and him, the aching burn in his dagger-hand a constant against the barrage of creatures, but he was unyielding - until he finally reached Scrum.

"¡Dónde está!" He cried frantically into the sea below. "Where is she?"

"El Capitán…" Scrum was white-faced as he pointed to the Essex.

Scarfield had her, unconscious, slung over one shoulder as he climbed quickly up the side of the ship with ease.

Once on deck, Armando saw Scarfield turn, sliding Carina unconsciously down to hold her against his chest.

It burned forever hot in his mind afterwards, seeing Carina held by him like that; her head lolling back against his arm, her pale face turned up, wet locks weaving down her neck towards her barely corseted chest...

Even from this distance, Armando could see the triumphant sneer on the Lieutenant's face, as he held Armando's gaze across the waters between them.

"¡Maldito cabrón!" Armando choked in fury. "¡Te voy a cortar en pedazos!"

 

* * *

 

With a guttural snarl, Elizabeth disembowelled the last of the creatures that had surrounded Jack, spraying its foul black blood over the thing’s soiled naval uniform before spinning and slicing Jack free from the mast.

“Ta, love,” Jack said faintly, before falling face down on top of hacked pieces of cold corpse.

“Oh, come on,” Elizabeth tried to pull him up by his arm. “We’ve got to get my son and get out of here.”

“Absolutely.” Jack balanced unsteadily on his knees. “Just, there’s one tiny problem –”

More creatures crawled and scuttled towards them, hissing and snapping their oversized teeth.

“And what’s that?” Elizabeth asked as she smartly beheaded one of them.

“Seriously?” Jack made a face as the decapitated head rolled to a stop near his feet. “The Undead trying to eat us doesn’t faze you?”

“I’ve faced worse.” Elizabeth grinned. “Now are you going to help me get Henry or –”

“Well, El Capitán ain’t exactly Henry, is he?” Jack poked the head with the toe of his boot, jerking back when it mindlessly snapped its jaws in one last act of malevolence. “Ewrgh.”

“Jack!” Elizabeth said, exasperated, as she sliced another creature’s head clear from its neck.

“I mean he is Henry, but he ain’t, even though he looks like ‘im, on the outside, or at least the bits _we_ can see –”

“My son is still in there somewhere!” Elizabeth grunted as she thrust a blade through another creature’s eye. “We just have to figure out how to get that bastard out of his body!”

Over the awful sounds of the creatures, both Jack and Elizabeth heard a clear Spanish cry: “¡Dónde está!”

They saw El Capitán leaning over the railing, staring wretchedly down, Scrum at his side.

“Speaking of said bastard…” Jack straightened and began to make his way through the melee towards him.

“Jack?” Elizabeth stared after him. “Jack, what the _hell_ –"

“It’s alright, darling,” Jack called over his shoulder. “Just saving the bastard, is all.”

Elizabeth swore colourfully behind him, but Jack was already set on his course to intervene in El Capitán’s approaching heroic (and in Jack’s frank opinion) utterly foolhardy attempt to rescue his girl.

“Though I dunno why I’m botherin',” he muttered to himself, narrowly avoiding a creature’s furious attempt to bite him when it slipped clumsily on the blood-slick deck. “Must be mellowin’ in m’old age.”

Jack skirted Bollard sitting on another creature’s chest while Marty hacked at its head.

“Good work, lads,” Jack said over the awful sounds of its skull caving in.

He deftly threaded past Jib and Pike holding another creature between them, while Gibbs stabbed it repeatedly.

“Jack!” Gibbs cried in between stabs. “Good t’see yer still alive!”

“Is it?” Jack frowned.

“Well, not Undead at any rate,” Gibbs answered.

“I hadn’t noticed.” Jack continued on, “Oh, and you should be aiming for the head.”

“Thank ye, Jack!” Gibbs dispatched the creature with a well-executed sword thrust.

Jack nodded, and swayed around in time to see Armando begin to climb the railing, crying, "¡Te voy a cortar en pedazos!"

Armando sheathed his dagger, preparing to dive into the sea and swim for the Essex.

“I wouldn’t be doing that, matey,” Jack hauled him by the back of his coat onto the deck.

“No me detengas,” Armando tried to tear himself out of Jack’s grasp, but Jack was surprisingly resolute. “¡La tomó!”

Shoving Jack away, Armando again tried to climb the railing.

“Look, I hate to interfere with a man who’s got a death wish,” Jack said, swallowing and putting a hand on Armando’s arm, “But if you want to rescue the girl proper-like, yer  gonna have to be a bit smarter about it.”

“¡Déjame ir!” Armando’s eyes burned, “I must kill him!”

Jack tightened his grip. “You won’t if you throw yerself into the sea like a great stupid salmon!”

"¡Cabrón!" Armando sprung down onto the deck, his dagger in Jack's face. "Do not stop me again, Sparrow!"

Jack hesitated.

Then he stepped forward, placed one hand against the inside of Armando's wrist, and with his other, smacked hard on the outside of Armando's dagger-hand.

The dagger went flying several feet away.

Armando was stunned.

“See, mate.” Jack said softly. “Yer so upset even _I_ can disarm yer.” He shook Armando’s wrist gently. “So how do yer think yer’d fare against a whole shipful of them things twixt you an’ her?”

Armando shook his head slowly, looking down at where Jack’s fingers still rested on his coat sleeve.

“I will destroy him,” Armando said calmly. “I will nail his hands to the deck and burn his ship into the sea and _I will watch while he dies_!”

And then without warning he threw Jack’s hand off, and leapt towards his dagger.

He didn’t make it far.

With a cry, Elizabeth hit him squarely in the head, and Capitán Armando Salazar fell to the deck, unconscious, his limp hand resting inches from his dagger.

"Elizabeth!" Jack was horrified.

"What?" She glared at Jack.

"I had it under control!"

“Blow me down!” Gibbs turned, dripping sword in hand. “Ye grown quick, Miss Elizabeth to be bestin' El Capitán!”

“That’s ‘your Majesty’ to you, Gibbs,” Elizabeth sniffed.

“My apologies, yer Majesty,” Gibbs amended.

Elizabeth looked around at the remaining pirates on deck. “Is this all that’s left of us?”

“Aye, Miss – er,” Marty cleared his throat, “Yer Majesty, this is everyone.”

“And the Creatures?” Elizabeth scanned the dead bodies strewn about.

“We dispatched most of them infernal things,” Gibbs said. “The rest are already gone back to their ship."

And sure enough, the eerie creatures could be spied gliding silently back towards the Essex in the wake of their master, scuttling swiftly up its sides and disappearing aboard.

“Fine. Then get your Captain and come with me.”

Pike, Bollard and Jib stepped forward, weapons pointed at Elizabeth. “Sorry, yer Majesty, but we don’t follow you. We follow El Capitán’s orders.”

“Are you serious?” Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “I just knocked your precious El Capitán out!”

“Then we’ll wait for him to wake up.”

Elizabeth gave a frustrated growl. “You – bloody – stupid –  _pirates_!” She lifted her sword. “You will take him aboard my ship _now_ or you will suffer –”

“Wait!” Scrum suddenly darted forward.

“Get back!” Elizabeth warned, but Scrum did not falter, kneeling beside Armando and plunging his hands into the coat pockets.

“Well,” Jack frowned. “Good to see there’s still no respect for a Captain when he’s down.”

Scrum ignored him as he felt around the inside of the coat. “Where is it?”

Everyone stared at him.

“Where’s what?” Elizabeth asked.

“The book!” Scrum looked up towards the ship’s wheel. “The book Lady Carina had!”

“Aye, the Witch’s Book.” Pike said. “El Capitán will be wantin’ it when he wakes.”

“Maybe he’ll be givin’ it to one of us?” Bollard said hopefully. “Prob’ly has a load of spells we could use!”

“No thanks,” Jib shuddered. “Not if I have to be the Devil's mistress for it!”

“Well,” Bollard scrunched up his nose in deep consideration. “If I _had_ to –”

Scrum stood and began to stumble over the dead bodies up towards the ship’s wheel. Once there, he disappeared, searching around underneath, and then a moment later reappeared, holding up the leather journal in one hand, and the uncut ruby in the other.

"Got it!"

"What's that?" Elizabeth squinted.

"Ah," Jack stood smoothly in front of Elizabeth, blocking her view of Scrum. "That's his mother's book."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "They said it was a Witch's book."

"Aye. And she is." Jack leaned in confidentially. "An absolute witch, has the most shocking warts, terrible teeth." Jack placed his hands on Elizabeth's shoulders, turning her away from Scrum completely. "Now what say I distract 'em, you grab yer son and skedaddle far, far away from here, eh?"

Elizabeth’s eyes widened at something over Jack’s shoulder.

“Duck.”

“Eh?”

“Duck!”

In confusion, Jack started to turn to see what on earth she was talking about, but Elizabeth pulled him to the deck, crying, “Everybody _down_!”

 

* * *

  
  
Without warning, the Essex fired on the Dying Gull once more – this time, aiming at its waterline.

It was over in a matter of minutes.

Scarfield watched dispassionately as it sank, its remaining crew shouting desperately to one another, tumbling into the icy sea as the ship broke into pieces beneath their feet. Some made it to the Wicked Wench II, some were dragged down by the turbulent pull of the briny waters as it swallowed the Dying Gull.

Scarfield was content.

Turning his back on the fate of the remaining survivors, he gave orders to his men to set sail, before descending into his cabin to where Carina had been secured.

At last he had her – but he knew he would also have to be patient.

The Trident came first.

And then, there would be an eternity in which she would be learning her proper place from him...

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¡Dónde está! Where is She!
> 
> ¡Maldito cabrón! You f**king bastard
> 
> ¡Te voy a cortar en pedazos! I'll cut you to pieces!
> 
> No me detengas Do not stop me
> 
> ¡La tomó! He took her!
> 
> ¡Déjame ir! Let me go!
> 
> ¡Cabrón! You bastard
> 
>  
> 
> Special kudos to the Youtube video ‘How to disarm a Knife pointed at you’  
> https://youtu.be/GGVJ4vbwHio


	26. Confined By Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'We are spinning our own fates, good or evil, and never to be undone. Every smallest stroke of virtue or of vice leaves its never so little scar.'  
> William James

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Armando is upset, he tends to slip into his native tongue a lot more … (translations at the end)

 

Exhausted, the last of the Dying Gull's crew flopped up onto the deck of the Wicked Wench II.

For long minutes, nobody spoke; just lay there in sodden clothes, panting.

"Carina," Armando muttered once, before lapsing back into unconsciousness.

"He lives." Jack said, eyes closed.

"Aye," Gibbs drew in a pained breath. "Not sure I do."

"Me neither," Marty agreed.

"Any idea," Jack took in a slow lungful of air. "Why the Spanish are always so bloody heavy?"

"Tisn't cos he's Spanish." Jib volunteered tiredly. "It's cos he's carrying all that evil on him. Weighs on the Devil, it does."

"That makes no sense." Pike swiped water from his face.

"When has anything made sense?" Scrum sat up with a groan. "Sometimes I think we should just pack piracy in and go home."

"He's heavy because all the evil of the world's resting on him," Jib insisted.

"All the evil of the world?" Pike snorted. "Then we should've sunk before we ever left St Martins."

Jib opened his mouth, paused, and then slowly closed his mouth again.

"One of you gents wanna help a man up?" Jack asked presently.

"I'll be able to move," Bollard grunted. "In about an hour. Or two."

"Dammit." Elizabeth moaned. "I can't feel my legs."

Jack squinted sideways. "Can't tell you how much I've missed hearing that."

"Shut up." She tossed back half-heartedly.

"Elizabeth?"

A shadow fell across her face as Will stood over her.

"Are you alright? Can I get you a blanket?"

"Mmm." Elizabeth cracked open an eye to look up at him. "How's the ship?"

"No damage," Will answered. "I steered us so that the Gull took the brunt of it."

"Can we sail?"

"We can." Will said carefully. "Shall we chase the Essex?"

Elizabeth reluctantly clambered to her knees, ignoring Will's outstretched hand, and looked out across the sea starboard-side.

The Essex was already well beyond the range of any of the Wench's own cannons, heading speedily towards a distant island.

"Orders?" Will asked.

"Get whoever we have left, and set a guard over this lot."

"Uh – there isn't anyone else here."

"What?" Elizabeth shook her head at the incomprehensible news. "Surely some of them made it back before the Gull –”

"No." Will shifted uncomfortably. "No one else came back. Just you."

"This – this is really it?"

Will nodded. "Shall we sail after the Essex? They’ll be headed for the Trident –”

"No." Elizabeth said firmly. "I've got what I came for. It's time to go."

Will looked disappointed, but swiftly hid it.

"Excellent plan," Jack said from where he still lay on the deck. "But might I also add –"

"Jack, get 'El Capitán' secure." Elizabeth slid on her authority like a second skin. "Tie him to the mast."

"Jack's not going to be able to hold him with his knots." Will eyed the prone body of their possessed son. "You should let me."

"No, you can set up the white stones," Elizabeth commanded. "If they're strong enough to stop Calypso interfering, then they're strong enough to contain a ghost."

She turned to Jack again.

"And while you're at it, you can tell me everything you know." She eyed him gravely. "And I do mean _everything_ , Jack."

 

* * *

 

Carina felt warm.

She hadn't expected to feel warm.

The last thing she remembered was seeing Armando's desperate face – and then falling – and then floating, in the muffled murk of the cold sea…

She sat up, eyes wide and panicking.

She was in a four poster bed in an unfamiliar room.

In only her underthings.

And she wasn't alone.

"Miss Carina Smyth. So pleased you are awake."

Scarfield was there.

Carina blanched.

"You little whore," he smiled. "Did you think I wouldn't find you?"

"How did you –"

"Survive?" Scarfield stepped closer. "Oh, dear. Did you think I was _dead_?"

That same sharp terror that had engulfed Carina from before came back, and she was suddenly in the stocks again, in the pitch black town square of St Martin, an indescribable _thing_ rising up behind her, whispering its vile words, paralysing her in place.

"Have you been thinking about me?" He tilted his head to the side. "Did you spare even a thought for my fate? I know you must have. Because I've been thinking about _you_. I've been giving a lot of thought to how you're going to be punished."

Carina shoved the covers off the bed and made a run for it, irrationally hoping to get to the deck somehow and throw herself over the side – anything but be Scarfield's prisoner – but he already had her by the waist in barely two steps.

"Now, now," Scarfield chided as he hauled her backwards away from the cabin door, "That's not the proper behaviour for my little whore."

"I'm – not – your whore!"

She stamped on his boots and elbowed him violently in his ribs, panic making her strong.

He flung her back onto the bed where she scrambled to her knees on the uneven mattress.

"You'll be whatever I want you to be," Scarfield took her arm firmly, and began pulling her, struggling, towards him. "My whore, my harlot, my _anything_!"

In terror, Carina slapped him hard.

Scarfield staggered back a step.

A trickle of dark blood slid from his lip.

He brushed at the blood, studying the stain on his fingertips.

"My, my," he said, admiringly. "Being in the company of pirates has certainly taught you a few useful skills."

"I'll kill you."

Scarfield paused, studying her in silence. "With your bare hands, Miss Smyth?"

"If that's all I have."

"Most whores would recognise which side their bread is buttered on."

"It doesn't matter how many times you call me a whore, you'll never make it so."

Scarfield stepped towards her, but Carina was faster this time, sliding off to stand in her bare feet on the cabin floor and keeping the bed between them.

"Don't be a fool, Miss Smyth –"

"You're the fool if you think you aren't being pursued!" She evinced a bravery she wasn't sure she actually had, and to distract him further, added, "You sank the ship of El Capitán Diablo, the fiercest pirate on the seas. And now he'll be coming for you!"

"Your precious pirate captain is dead." Scarfield relished her shock. "And his ship is at the bottom of the ocean. So tell me, Miss Smyth… who is coming for me?"

Carina pursed her lips. "You're lying."

"Still so predictable." He sighed. "And I'd hoped you'd at least be – as amenable with me as you seemed to be with that... El Capitán. "

"I don't care what you hoped." She took a deep breath. "Or what lies you tell me. I know El Capitán, and there isn't anything that would stop him from taking his revenge."

"Well, by all means," Scarfield smiled. "Let us wait, shall we? I am a patient man. But in the meantime, there is another, more urgent matter I require your assistance on."

"Go to hell!"

Scarfield chuckled. "Well, I suppose you could say my kind came from hell… but for now, I would counsel you to swallow your pride, Miss Smyth, and tell me about the Trident."

"I won't."

"It's been a simple matter," he continued coolly, "To follow you all this way. Knowing you were sailing straight for the Trident, hoping to reach it before me. And I can deduce the Trident is somewhere on that island you were sailing for. But I am no novice, Miss Smyth." His eyes turned dark. "Taking the Trident of Poseidon will not be a simple task. There will be – obstacles, protective measures, in place to guard it. I want you to tell me everything you know."

"I won't tell you a thing."

"You will." Scarfield tipped his chin. "You have no choice."

"No."

He began to walk in slow measured steps around the edge of the bed towards her.

"You know what I will do to you, don't you, Miss Smyth."

Carina began to back away. "You think to frighten me, Lieutenant? Because I don't see any stocks around here."

"You think that's what I have in mind? You can't still be that naïve." He deliberately dropped his gaze to her corset, before looking up at her again. "Especially considering the recent company you kept."

"You're not terrifying me," she crossed her arms.

"Think you can bear me, do you?" he was edging her into the corner of the cabin. "You think you can suffer nobly through what I'm going to do to you?"

Carina was trapped.

He reached a cold finger out, touched her face.

She flinched away from it.

"But perhaps… I could make it pleasant for you." He said softly.

Carina's lip curled in disgust. "Not in a million light years could you _ever_ be pleasant."

"Perhaps not." He turned away. "Very well, then. Bring him in," Scarfield called, and at once the cabin door opened.

 

* * *

 

"And that's all I know." Jack finished tying the unconscious El Capitán to the mast of the Wicked Wench with a flourish, and stepped back to admire his own handiwork.

The languishing crew of the Dying Gull sat nearby, sullen but exhausted, watching as their Capitán was tied tightly.

Elizabeth had only to glance at their faces to read a supreme confidence in their Capitán’s ability to escape once he woke, and she earnestly hoped the white stones worked.

Will slowly stood from where he had laid the last of the white stones in a circle. "So that's the truth, Jack?"

"Aye, mate," Jack winked. "Nothing but the truth."

Will shook his head. " _You_?"

"S'right. Me."

Will looked at the body of his son tied to the mast, before looking at Jack again. "You – killed El Matador Del Mar?"

"Really?" Jack pouted, hurt. "Is it so hard to believe?"

"I've heard the stories." Elizabeth chewed her lip. "That he was defeated in battle against pirates. That his ship was wrecked in the Devil's Triangle, and that everyone aboard died."

Elizabeth gave Jack a small glance of affection that made Will turn away in barely disguised annoyance.

"But I didn't know it was _you_ who drove him into the Devil's Triangle." She looked again at the unconscious man. "Pity he didn't stay there."

"Well, being that his life was lost at sea in the first place," Jack said roundly, "I s'pose you could say we have the Captain of the Flying Dutchman to thank for this little predicament."

"You b-" Will cried.

"No," Elizabeth said firmly before Will could object more. "We have _Calypso_ to thank for it."

"Well, now that we all know who to blame," Jack circled around the mast towards her. "Let's –"

"How did you know?" Will said suddenly.

"Huh?" Jack frowned.

"You've never met my son before, have you?" Will looked at Jack suspiciously. "So how did you know it wasn't… how did you know he was possessed?"

"What, apart from the fact that the bloke walked a bit funny and his eyes changed colour a lot and he was always talking to someone who wasn't there? Like, actual conversing, waiting for the answers an' everything?" Jack started to grin, until he caught Elizabeth's scowl – and quickly adopted a more serious expression. "Yes, well, let's just call it… intuition."

"Intuition." Will said blankly. "Intuition made you think it was El Matador Del Mar?"

"Seemed the most likely," Jack mused. "Dunno any other _Spanish_ person, alive or dead, who'd hate me with a murderously vengeful rage more than El Matador Del Mar."

"Well there is _one_ other Spanish person," Scrum spoke up.

"Well, yes," Jack quickly dismissed, "But she ain't a man. And whatever else you can say about El Capitán, he is definitely a man."

"So where was he going again?" Elizabeth said. "Didn't he say something about –?"

"No idea." Jack said. "Now, shall we –"

"I know!" Scrum interrupted. "He was gonna go find –"

"Look at the time!" Jack squinted up at the sun. "Best make haste, time and tide waits for no man – or woman –"

"Jack." Elizabeth said sternly.

"Wha'?"

"Jack, just tell me."

"Er..." Jack stood there, wide-eyed, obviously trying to think of how to get out of telling her, and failing.

"It's the Trident." Scrum rolled his eyes. "The Trident of Poseidon."

"The Trident of Poseidon?" Elizabeth scoffed. “Was he really serious about that? That’s just a myth!”

Will stared at her. "But... you said you told Henry it was real."

Elizabeth coloured.

"He wanted adventure so badly, Will, nothing I said was going to stop him going off and finding it," she started defensively, "But even if the Trident was really _real_ , surely someone would've found it by now, so it can't be!"

"Exactly." Jack pressed his hands together, "That's _exactly_ what I keep trying to tell everyone."

"But why did he say he wanted it?" Will asked.

"Has the power to break any curse at sea," Gibbs said.

“Any curse?” Elizabeth frowned. "What curse would he be… the curse of the Devil's Triangle? To free himself from being a ghost?"

"Who knows what goes on in that mind of his," Jack said lowly, "Best not to think of it –"

"He wants to live again," Will said quietly. "He wants his own body back, his own life back," he looked at Jack. "He wants back what was stolen from him."

"Well, wake him up!" Elizabeth ordered. "If  the Trident is actually real –” she cast Will a stubborn look, “And I’m not saying I believe it is _quite_ yet –  but if the Trident is real, and if it’s going to get him out of Henry, then it's time for El Capitán and I to have another little chat."

 

* * *

 

Two of Scarfield's men came into the cabin, dragging a man between them.

Carina drew in a sharp breath when she recognised who it was.

"Mr Onslow!"

He gasped in pain as they threw him to the floor at Scarfield's feet.

Carina could see at once that Mr Onslow had been badly beaten; his clothes had been torn as though by a whip, and when he raised his head, one eye was swollen shut in a mess of purple bruising and dried blood.

"Mr Onslow," Carina knelt by him, reaching out a gentle hand to touch his shoulder.

"Miss... Smyth," he grasped her hand suddenly. "I'm so... sorry... I tried to keep you out of it... I tried to help you get away – before – "

"I've been keeping him alive, if only out of respect for his excessive need to interfere with us," Scarfield said. "Seeing your kindness is gratifying, Miss Smyth. I'm sure he'll appreciate it – before he dies."

"My wife..." Mr Onslow started. "She... she..."

"Where's your wife?" Carina asked. "Is she with you?"

Scarfield laughed.

"Not… entirely..." Mr Onslow winced and shook his head, "But there's more of us, that are still alive –"

One of Scarfield's men, at a nod from Scarfield, turned and gave Mr. Onslow a savage kick to the ribs.

Carina flinched back from the viciousness of the kick.

Mr Onslow fell to his side, moaning and shielding himself from further blows.

"Please," he was hoarse, "Please. No more."

Another kick.

"Stop!" Carina stood and turned on Scarfield, hands clenched and itching to strike. "You utter bastard –"

"Uh, uh," Scarfield warned. "Tread carefully now, Miss Smyth."

After a long moment Carina slowly relaxed her fists.

"I see you understand the situation, Miss Smyth. Mr Onslow can be spared," he leaned in close to her, his breath chilling her face. "If you are… _amenable_ to my requests."

Even in the muted light of the cabin, Carina still couldn't help noticing the faintest of scars in the hollow of his cheek – where barely the night before had been an open, pulsing wound… she saw the way his sunken eyes darkened, the growing pallor of his skin, and shivered involuntarily.

Whatever had happened to Scarfield before he left St Martin, there was something _distinctly_ inhuman about him now.

With a supreme effort of will she quelled the rising revulsion and terror, and said calmly, "Fine. I will tell you what I know."

Scarfield smiled. "Excellent choice, Miss Smyth."

"So long as Mr Onslow stays within my sight, unharmed and unhurt," she said.

"Very well," Scarfield said. "Now. Tell me."

 

* * *

 

"The Trident." Elizabeth stood in front of Armando as he slowly stirred awake. "Where is it?"

"Carina." He kept his eyes down. "¿Dónde está Carina?"

"Speak English!" Elizabeth tapped the deck with her sword tip impatiently.

The sound seemed to arrest Armando, and he stiffened in the ropes.

"¿Estoy vivo?" His lips grew thin, but still he refused to look at them. "¿O finalmente estoy siendo castigado por todos mis pecados?"

Elizabeth cast a frustrated glare at Jack. "Do you know what he's saying?"

"Here," Jack slipped up next to Elizabeth. "Let me try."

He faced Armando, cleared his throat, and said, in stilted Spanish, "Escucha, amigo… Sé que quieres... uh - ir a rescatar a tu dama ... pero es muy importante que no nos digas dónde está el Tridente."

Slowly, Armando lifted flame-red eyes.

"Sparrow!" he hissed.

Jack took a step backwards.

"Si Carina muere," Armando grated between his teeth, "No hay un lugar en la tierra en el que puedas esconderte de mí. ¡Te encontraré y te mataré!"

"Enough!" Elizabeth shoved Jack away with a frustrated growl.

"You have one minute to tell me everything you know about the Trident," she told Armando, "Or I start killing your crew."

Armando almost laughed in her face. "¿Confías en estas cuerdas para contenerme?"

He disappeared, the heavy ropes fell to the deck, and Armando reappeared, unbound.

"You have made a mistake for the last time, Señora!"

But then Armando hit a wall.

Falling back, he stared, perplexed and disoriented, at the air about him.

"¿Que es esto?"

Elizabeth smiled triumphantly.

Will regarded Armando with interest. "Good to see the stones are working,"

"Stones?" Armando looked down.

The white stones made a circle around the mast, and try as he might, he could not move beyond them. He couldn't even kick at them, or knock them away. He was completely trapped.

The crew of the Dying Gull murmured amongst themselves, their Capitan's unexpected inability to move through the stones causing dismay.

"Brujería..." Armando traced the invisible wall that kept him caged with his fingers."¡Bruja!"

Armando struck the invisible wall violently, his brows drawn together, swinging again and again at it, teeth bared as he snarled, "¡Liberame!"

"I want you out of my son!" Elizabeth hissed. "Tell me how to find the Trident!"

"¡No me importa el Tridente! Carina me necesita!"

"Wait. That woman..." Elizabeth realised. "Her name's Carina?"

"She was taken," Scrum said. "One of them creatures took her aboard their ship."

"And you –” Elizabeth looked at Armando with shrewd comprehension. "You're in love with her. Aren't you?"

Leaning his head heavily on the magical barrier between them, Armando suddenly slumped.

"But she's gone, Niñito," they heard him whisper dejectedly. "You cannot help."

"Tell me where the Trident is," Elizabeth made a visible effort to control her temper, "Tell me how to find it so I can use it to free my son from you – and I promise you we'll save her."

"A bargain? Too late, Señora, He's taken her. You're too late."

"Bloody tell me! Or so help me God I'll haul you to the nearest church and get a priest to cast you out of Henry myself!"

"It's on the _island_!" Armando stuck at the invisible wall with his fist. "The island we would've been on by now, if you hadn't stopped us!"

 

* * *

 

"The Trident isn't actually on the island." Carina stared down at her clasped hands. "I managed to translate some more since navigating away from St Martin – though I can't be sure of the exact meaning..."

"But you believe it's not on the island?" Scarfield sat himself comfortably on the bed.

Carina cast a worried glance at Mr Onslow, wheezing painfully on his knees between Scarfield's men. "No."

"Then where is it?"

"The parts of the Journal that I could translate seemed to be saying that... Merpeople were guarding it."

"Merpeople. So... it must be in the sea." Scarfield digested this. "Go on."

Carina kept her eyes on her hands, not wanting to look at him.

"From what I can understand, it's somewhere at the base of the island's continental shelf - and the island itself is a map that points to where in the sea the Trident is."

"A map? What kind of map?"

"The journal didn't elaborate."

"I see. And apart from Merpeople, what else protects the Trident?"

Carina hesitated.

"Miss Smyth," Scarfield repeated, "What else protects the Trident?"

"I don't know..."

One of Scarfield's men moved a little; Mr Onslow whimpered.

"It's just hard to describe!" Carina spoke fast. "The journal just seemed to be saying... that only a human can touch it."

"Only a human." Scarfield frowned.

"There's a curse on it, that if anyone... not human... touches it, the Trident will destroy them."

"Clever." Scarfield contemplated her words. "The Trident must be deep underwater. I imagine it can't be reached by any normal, human means. And yet, anything less than human, even though they might be able to reach it, cannot touch it."

He nodded at Carina. "Anything else?"

"No."

Scarfield motioned to his men, who took hold of Mr Onslow and began to drag him out of the cabin.

 

* * *

 

"Then let's go! If this Trident is real, we're going to find it!" Elizabeth turned to the remaining pirates from the Gull, still lying stretched out. "Up! Up off the deck!"

"But we only –” Jib protested, but Elizabeth had had enough.

"If I hear _one more word_ about how you only follow El Capitán Diablo's orders I will run you through with a rusty breadknife, do you understand?"

A grumbled mutter from the exhausted pirates was her only response, but as they slowly got to their feet in obedience she elected to ignore the complaints.

Armando glared at Elizabeth in silence.

"Come on, you scurvy lot!" Jack cried. "Your King's standing order is to sail for the Trident, so be quick about it!"

He sent El Capitán a cheeky wink, which only made Armando turn away.

"Master Gibbs," Elizabeth called, "Drop the mainsail. Will, there's a run on the wind, get those foresails trimmed! I need everyone to prepare the ship to turn about, we may yet beat them there."

"Surely Jack can make himself more useful and –" Will started to protest.

"No." Elizabeth said abruptly. "Jack's with me."

Will cast an angry look at Jack, before turning away to grudgingly start work on the sails.

Elizabeth strode up towards the Wicked Wench's wheel, Jack following behind.

At the wheel, she stopped and faced him.

"Jack," she took a deep breath.

"Elizabeth," he smiled. "If yer wanna apologise, I want you to know... I have every intention of accepting it."

Her mouth became an annoyed pout.

"Tell me the truth, Jack. Why don't you want me to find the Trident?"

Jack pretended to study the wood grain on the wheel. "Cos it's not real, love."

She studied him. "You're lying."

"Am I?"

She gave him a wry smile. "I'm surprised at you. There was a time when this sort of thing would've been right up your alley."

"Well, my alley may have had..." Jack waved a hand. "Second thoughts."

"Like what?"

Jack looked away.

"Please tell me." She rested a hand on his chest. "I just want to know, Jack."

"No, yer don't."

Elizabeth started to argue, until she saw he was deadly serious. “Help me understand, then.”

"I know we seen our fair share of the supernatural, love,” Jack’s voice was stilted, “But this – this is different. This ain't jus' cursed aztec gold or a big beastie. This is the Trident – of _Poseidon_."

Elizabeth made a face.

"I don't see how the Trident of Poseidon – and look, I’m still not convinced it’ll be what it’s rumoured to be – is all that different from everything else we’ve –"

For the first time in a long time, Jack dropped all his pretentions.

"That's because you're not _thinkin_ ', love. The Trident was made by gods, to be held by a _god_. Not a human. A human touches somethin' like that – it changes them forever. It's like ... tryin' to hold an electric sea-current in your fist... it's like that feelin' you get inside when you think you're about to die and your guts are about to come up through the roof of your mouth and your brains about to drop into your boots. It's like you're tryin' to lift the world in something the size of a walking stick, an'... an' it jus' _changes_ you. Nothin' is ever the same, nothin' is ever _right_ inside of you again."

Elizabeth stared.

"You've done it, haven't you," she said. "You've touched it."

Jack turned away.

“So it’s actually real…” Elizabeth breathed. “It actually exists?”

"Yeah. And I don't want you touchin' it, Elizabeth. You dunno what it does."

 

 

* * *

 

Bollard and Marty watched, pretending to be busy, as the Pirate King and Sparrow talked in low tones.

"We gotta wait," Marty whispered.

"I know!" Bollard whispered back.

"Psssssst!" Jib hissed from the rigging above. "Pike said he'll give the signal when we're closer, and then we can free El Capitán!"

"Thought I was giving the signal?" Bollard grumbled.

"It doesn't matter who gives the signal, just be ready!" Marty yelled.

"You know," Will sighed from behind them, "I can hear everything you're saying."

Marty and Bollard jumped.

"Er –" Marty cleared his throat. "We're not sayin' anything."

Bollard shook his head vigorously. "Nope. Not sayin' a thing."

Will rolled his eyes.

"If you really want to free your Captain, all you have to do is take one stone away."

Marty and Bollard stared.

"Not that you heard it from me," Will turned and walked nonchalantly away.

 

* * *

 

From where he was, imprisoned around the mast, Armando had the perfect view of the Essex, some two leagues away, sailing straight for the same island he and Carina had been navigating towards since the Blood Moon.

To be so close, and yet too far, was a weight around his chest that made it hard to breathe.

He paced constantly, cursing his predicament, cursing Henry's mother, cursing Jack Sparrow and cursing himself, his fists squeezing shut again and again as he tried not to imagine what might be happening to Carina, and instead imagined what he would do to the Lieutenant when he found him.

 _There's something you need to know about the Trident,_ Henry suddenly broke into Armando's thoughts.

"What is it, Niñito?"

_I once heard... and I thought it was just an odd anecdote at the time..._

"¿Qué?"

_The Trident is sentient. It's like the spirit of Poseidon lives in it. The Merpeople apparently even have a prophecy about it. That one day a human would come, and take the Trident, and..._

"And?"

_The Trident would bestow them with godhood._

Armando stilled. "¿Perdón?"

_Whoever holds the Trident... is destined to be the next Poseidon._

"Niñito." Armando kept his face perfectly blank to hide the inner turmoil Henry's words brought. "Didn't you say Sparrow once held it?"

Henry paused.

_A long time ago._

Armando glanced thoughtfully at Sparrow. "Interesante."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¿Dónde está Carina? - Where is Carina?
> 
> ¿Estoy vivo? ¿O finalmente estoy siendo castigado por todos mis pecados? - Am I even alive? Or am I finally being punished for all my sins?
> 
> Escucha, amigo… Sé que quieres ir a rescatar a tu dama ... pero es muy importante que no nos digas dónde está el Tridente.
> 
> \- Listen, mate… I know you want to go rescue your lady... but it's really important you don't tell us where the Trident is.
> 
> Si Carina muere, no hay un lugar en la tierra en el que puedas esconderte de mí. ¡Te encontraré y te mataré!
> 
> \- If Carina dies, there is not a place on earth in which you can hide from me. I will find you and I will kill you!
> 
> ¿Confías en estas cuerdas para contenerme? - Do you trust these ropes to restrain me?
> 
> ¿Que es esto? - What is this?
> 
> Brujería - Sorcery
> 
> Bruja - Witch
> 
> Liberame - Release me
> 
> ¡No me importa el Tridente! Carina me necesita! - I don't care about the Trident! Carina needs me!
> 
> Interesante - Interesting.
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apparently, 'Pretention' is the *archaic* way of spelling 'Pretension' (Definition: done to impress others) All my life I've been spelling it 'Pretention'... upon some brief research, I discovered that the spelling I use was most common in the 1800s. It must've been all that time spent devouring the classics. Thanks, Brontë/Austen. I guess.... ; )


	27. Bargains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter of moving chess pieces... but the chapter after has a lot of action, so bear with me...

Mr Onslow whimpered in pain as Scarfield's two men pulled him roughly to his feet.

"Please," he said hoarsely, "Please, I don't want to go back there!"

"Lock him back up with the others," Scarfield commanded.

Carina saw the terrified look in the poor man's eye, and turned to Scarfield.

"You promised he would stay in my sight –"

"Only until you have fulfilled your part of the bargain. You have told me everything you know, and so I consider the bargain fulfilled."

"Then let me go with him," Carina tried to keep her voice calm over the sounds of Mr Onslow's rising panic as Scarfield's men dragged him out, "You don't need me anymore!"

"The remaining souls of St Martins are now provisions for my crew, to sustain them." Scarfield was coldly amused. "Are you also willing to be food, Miss Smyth?"

Carina did not hesitate in her answer.

"Yes."

She made to move towards Mr Onslow, but a hand wrapped bruisingly around her wrist.

"No, Miss Smyth." Scarfield shook his head. " _You_ are to stay."

"But… I lied!" She said desperately as the cabin door started to close on Mr Onslow's pleading. "I didn't tell you everything, so… our bargain isn't fulfilled!"

"You lied?" Scarfield said inquisitively. "Or are you lying now?"

"Don't take him away! There's more I can tell you –"

The cabin door shut.

"Oh, my dear Miss Smyth," Scarfield did not release his hold on her wrist. "Don't tell me you're afraid to be alone with me."

Carina looked away. "Hardly."

He slipped an arm around the small of her back, and drew her in. "You _are_ afraid."

This close to him again, Carina could not mistake the smell of charred wood rising from his skin – only laced now with a faint scent of rot.

Carina's voice caught in her throat. "Don't touch me."

"Would you really rather be torn apart and eaten than be here with me?"

"Yes." Carina stifled a shudder. "Even if it's the only alternative."

The smell of Scarfield's decay was stronger now than before, and caught in her throat; she swallowed back the rising bile.

"I _could_ kill you," he looked down at her. "I know exactly how you'd taste..."

Scarfield's face began to change.

 _Or… I could make you like mysssself_...

Before her eyes, Scarfield's skin turned into a sickly, translucent white, his eyes receded in his head until only gaping black holes remained, and his teeth grew into sharp fangs. He rested a heavy, mottled hand on her shoulder.

Horrified, Carina tried to pull back, but he only wrapped long fingers about her jaw, ragged nails tapping against her cheek.

From somewhere in the room, twin hisses of approval sounded, but she could not look, forced as she was by Scarfield to keep her head firmly fixed in place.

 _Turn her, brother_ , the two voices hissed in unison. _Turn her…_

 

* * *

 

"El Capitán!" Scrum whispered. "El Capitán, we're here to free you!"

Armando turned to see the Gull's entire crew attempting to crouch down behind the mast, faces eager with excitement.

"An' I got this for you," Scrum opened his fist, showing the uncut red rock in it. "Still have Lady Carina's Journal, too, though it's a bit wet!"

Armando looked up at Scrum, and almost found it too difficult to speak, so grateful did he feel in that moment for the earnest little pirate.

"Gracias, but you must keep it," he said hoarsely. "Keep it for Mi Ángel - she will want it."

"The Gull's smallboat survived, El Capitán," Pike chimed in, eager to share in Armando's approval. "So we got it roped to the bow all secret-like, while the King been talking with Jack."

"I swum an' got it!" Jib added. "Pirate King didn't even see me!"

"And Turner was tellin' us we can move the stones to let you out!" Bollard whispered, while Marty nodded enthusiastically next to him. "Won't be long afore we have to drop anchor, Capitán!"

"And then we'll be close enough to row ashore," Gibbs finished, "That is, if ye still be of a mind to find the Trident?"

"No," Armando was firm. "Aún no."

"Capitán?" The men shared confused glances.

Armando shook his head, lips pressed together as he deliberated internally for a long moment.

Finally he let out a hard breath, "Lady Carina is more important."

"But... Capitán," Gibbs hesitated. "I thought you wanted the Trident?"

"We do." Armando grimaced. "We did. But now... Lady Carina must come first. Even if it means... even if it means losing the Trident."

Scrum nodded slowly. "Then what do you want us to do, Capitán?"

"We need Sparrow," Armando told them.

"Sparrow?" Bollard made a face. "What do we need him for?"

"He unfortunately… may be necessary." Armando grimaced, and began to quietly give them orders.

 

* * *

 

 Scarfield pivoted and forced Carina to sit on the bed.

She collapsed awkwardly from the force of his momentum, and he swiftly positioned himself between her knees, pushing down on her shoulders.

 _Sssssleeep,_ he hissed soothingly, and to Carina's horror her limbs began to feel heavy, and her body sank back across the bed: she could do nothing but stare helplessly up at him.

Behind him, Mrs Onslow and Mrs Besançon had materialised, their hideous faces fixed avidly on her, jaws dropping open in anticipation.

Scarfield crawled onto the bed, his hand a cold iron vise around her neck, his thumb scraping across her mouth, parting her lips.

Carina tried to push him away, but her attempts were frighteningly weak.

 _Sssssleeep,_ hissed the women; _Sssssleeep,_ Scarfield hissed again.

Carina closed her eyes, the irresistible lethargy overtaking her, as Scarfield shifted his leaden weight to settle heavily on top of her.

A fresh wave of putrescence sank down on her face as he opened his mouth, and he forced her to open her lips even wider to meet his...

Before suddenly checking himself.

 _No_ , Scarfield said slowly. _It isss not the right time… thisss is not..._

With effort, Carina forced her eyes to open, but she could do little else.

Scarfield drew back onto his knees, his human face gradually shrouding his real one once more.

 _What… isss wrong?_ Mrs Onslow was confused. _Do you not wish to turn her, brother?_

"No. It is not wise," Scarfield's reluctance was obvious. "It is not... the best course of action."

 _Then let usss eat her, Brother!_ Mrs Onslow ran a tongue over withered lips. _It hass been hoursss ssince we ate…_

"No." Scarfield shook his head.

 _Is she not the tasssty, brother?_ Mrs Besançon said consolingly. _Sssometimesss if the heart is bad, the tassste isss bad…_

"It's not that." Scarfield shook his head. "We must… keep her human a little while longer."

 _But… brother..._ Mrs Onslow whined.

"No." He firmly suppressed her protesting hisses.

 _But why, brother?_ Mrs Onslow opened her mouth almost involuntarily as she eyed Carina. _You've turned othersss. Why not thisss one too?_

"We still have use for her as a human..." Scarfield pressed his fingers briefly against the fluttering pulse in Carina's neck, "Besides… I find… I enjoy her frightened little heartbeat… her quick little breaths."

Scarfield removed himself from the bed, and stood looking down on her. "I will keep Miss Smyth alive. For now."

The paralysis that had sunk Carina under his power began to slowly lift.

"Do excuse me, Miss Smyth," Scarfield said, "But I must discuss the Trident with my sisters. Do _not_ attempt to leave this cabin, or I will rethink my generosity."

He turned away towards Mrs Onslow and Mrs Besançon, ignoring Carina's stifled whimpers as she struggled to sit up on the bed behind them.

 

* * *

 

 With a swift glance at the ship's wheel, Will Turner sharply angled aside at the mast to address Armando.

"I know what you're planning," he said in a low voice. "I want to help."

Armando looked at him, carelessly indifferent. "Now, you wish to help?"

"I do…" Will cleared his throat. "But I just want to know first… can Henry hear me?"

"Sí," Armando answered coldly. "He hears everything."

"But he can't talk?"

"Oh no, he talks very much, all the time." Armando smiled humourlessly. "Your son won't stop talking."

Will frowned.

"However, I am the only one who can hear him." Armando sighed. "And it is a burden, hombre, a terrible burden."

Armando rubbed at his ear, as though an irritating itch stung him there.

"So…" Will said slowly. "He can hear me now?"

"Sí."

Will looked the other man in the eye a long moment.

"Then… tell me what present I gave him on his tenth birthday?"

Armando paused, as though listening.

"How sickening." Armando's mouth quirked in a solitary moment of aversion. "You gave him nothing, because you came yourself. _You_ were his present on his tenth birthday."

"So it's true then." Will tilted his head to the side. "Henry really is in there."

Armando sneered. "And what does that mean to you? Are you finally here to tell him you're sorry?"

Will scowled. "I'm here to offer my help."

"Of course, why apologise to Henry?" Armando turned away. "Without you and his mother interfering, we would've reached the Trident already. Your son would've freed you from your obligation to the Flying Dutchman, and freed me from my curse."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." Will cast him an earnest look. "But I can help you now."

Armando waved his hand dismissively. "We are not interested in _your_ help."

"Listen," Will stepped closer, "I'll help you and your men take the Wench. I'll help you get the Trident."

"So quick to betray the woman you say you love," Armando lifted his chin, looking at Will over his shoulder. "And still Niñito says we can trust you. Me – I am not so sure."

"I want Henry freed. I want Elizabeth back." He glanced beyond Armando, to where Elizabeth was still deep in conversation with Jack, and a hollow look of longing crossed his face. "The only way that's going to happen is if you get the Trident. I will do everything in my power to make sure that happens."

"And why should I trust you?" Armando faced him. "An absent father, neglecting his own son, who can barely be counted on to –"

Armando's words choked to a halt.

Will stared as Armando squeezed his eyes shut, sucking a breath in between his teeth as though in pain.

"Ah, Niñito," he gasped. "You little brat!"

"Are you… is Henry talking to you now?" Will held his breath.

Armando ignored him, apparently in an internal battle of control against Henry.

"I thought we were past this childishness!" Armando gritted out, hands clenched into fists.

Will watched, fascinated, as Armando's entire posture tensed as though in the grip of some uncontrollable seizure.

It reminded Will of the way his own muscles used to clench involuntarily whenever he had to treat a particularly painful wound, though such memories were old and half-forgotten now. As one who'd already passed through death and out the other side, Will was beyond feeling physical pain, most of the time.

"I am _not_ stubborn, _you_ are being naïve!" Armando was arguing through tight lips. "You cannot trust him!"

"You can trust me!" Will countered. "Trust that I want my family back!"

"No!" Armando scowled. "Leave! There is nothing you can do for us!"

"I want to know what my son is saying!" Will said angrily. "Tell me what he is saying!"

"You want to know what he is saying?" Armando glared. "He is saying he forgives you. He loves you and forgives you, and I should let you help us – ¡Dios mío, me pone enfermo!"

"Let me help!" Will pleaded.

"Ah!" Armando rubbed furiously at his face. "As you wish, Niñito! Sí! I will ask!"

He stepped in to Will, who resisted the urge to step back from the intense fire-coloured eyes.

"Henry insists that we speak with the Sparrow." There was no mistaking the distaste with which Armando spoke those words. "I was not going to give Sparrow a choice, since so much is his fault… but Henry asks that you… distract his mother, so we may attempt to speak with him."

Will frowned. "Jack? Why do you need to speak with Jack?"

"No more questions!" Armando snapped. "You wish to help, then go! Send the Sparrow to us!"

 

* * *

 

"So what's the plan?" Will asked, stepping up towards where Jack and Elizabeth still stood together at the ship's wheel.

"We're keeping out of range of their cannons, and we're getting to shore before they do." Elizabeth stared ahead to the ever approaching island, "And then Jack will show us where the Trident is."

"So… once we find the Trident, who's going to be the one to take it?"

"That's already decided." Elizabeth pressed her lips together determinedly. "I'll get it."

"Elizabeth –" Jack began.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea –" Will said in a low voice, but Elizabeth cut them both off.

"What else would you suggest?" Elizabeth said hotly. "The Trident is within our reach, Will. Jack knows where it is. He knows how to get to it." Elizabeth threw Will an angry glance. "And frankly, I don't want that bastard in my son's body a second longer than he has to be."

Will looked again at Jack's clouded face and then at Elizabeth's determined one.

"Elizabeth, I need to speak with you." He looked pointedly at Jack. "Alone."

"Anything you say can be said in front of Jack."

Will shook his head. "Not this."

"Right," Jack said, starting to delicately step away. "Well then, I'll just be over here…"

"No, Jack, you stay."

"Uh –"

"Elizabeth." Will said quietly. "This is about us. I think we should do this without an audience."

"It's alright, love," Jack placed a gentle hand on Elizabeth's arm. "You need to do this."

For a moment Elizabeth looked like she was going to argue with him, before looking away and shrugging.

"Fine. But make it quick, Will. It won't be long before we're anchoring."

Once Jack was descending the steps towards the deck, Will placed himself firmly in front of Elizabeth. Her eyes widened a little at his boldness in venturing so close, but she covered her discomfort by tossing her head a little and crossing her arms.

"So, talk." Elizabeth said haughtily. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know what the cost is?" he asked. "What aren't you telling me about the Trident?"

"It's nothing I can't handle." Elizabeth said abruptly.

"Elizabeth–"

"If Jack can hold it, I don't see why I can't!"

Will paused as her words sunk in. "So touching the Trident is dangerous."

Elizabeth avoided his eyes, and chewed her lip. "Jack says it … changes you."

Will put his hands firmly on her shoulders, tilting his head down so she could not do anything except look at him.

"Then let me do it."

Elizabeth's lips parted in amazement. "You?"

Will drew a breath in, stung by her reaction, but pressed on. "It's my son too, Elizabeth. And since I'm been blamed for his possession –"

"I'm not completely blaming you, Will –"

"You are, Elizabeth!"

"I'm perfectly aware there's been more than one person responsible –"

"You don't trust me! You don't even tell me –"

"Will Turner!" Elizabeth shook his hands from her shoulders. "If you'd had the bloody foresight to stop and think beyond a quick tumble in Calypso's bed, then –"

Elizabeth stopped, clamping her mouth shut, a look of guilt on her face.

"Well, then," Will stepped back. "Let me make it up to you. Let me be the one to take the risk."

"You think you can do it?" Elizabeth chewed her lip again. "I mean, we don't know how it even works…"

"It'll be like everything else," Will tried to sound more certain than he felt, "It'll be like looking through the seeing stone… like… like the compass. You hold it, and it reads your will. It'll manifest what you want."

Elizabeth couldn't help glancing down at where the compass was tethered to her belt. She had to resist the urge to run her fingers over its worn edges.

"I hope you're right."

 

* * *

 

 "Sparrow."

Jack turned to where Armando stood at the mast, still apparently imprisoned by the circle of white stones.

"Well, well, well," Jack grinned provokingly. "Bit of a reversal of events, innit? You there, stuck at the mast, an' me here, free to come and go as I please."

"Free?" Armando regarded Jack with calm composure. "Is the Sparrow really free?"

Jack paused, surprised at his apparent lack of hostility.

"Well…" he said slowly, "That question presupposes an interest in discussing the philosophical intricacies of whether or not a man is truly free," Jack swayed a step closer, "Which, I have to inform you, I ain't got."

"If you really have no interest in freedom," Armando shrugged, "Then you also have no interest if your Elizabeth is the one to take the Trident."

"We… haven't exactly reached an accord yet."

"Ah," Armando clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. "A woman like that doesn't take orders, she gives them. Why would she listen to you?"

Jack pouted. "She listens to me, thank you very much! I am _very_ listened to."

"Is that why you're down here, talking to me?" Armando nodded up towards where Elizabeth was still engaged in deep conversation with Will. "But then, who am I to judge? Perhaps the Sparrow really does have no interest in freedom. Perhaps he wishes now to take orders, scrub the decks on his hands and knees, and let others make choices for him…?"

"Well," Jack scrambled his thoughts together, "Coming from you, I find such questions of freedom – highly suspect! We both know, mate, _you_ want to be free."

Armando shrugged. "Perhaps. But your lack of freedom should still interest you."

"Oh?" Jack swayed closer again. "And how is that?"

"Because Niñito's mother is deliberately putting herself at risk. And yet, you stand by and do nothing?"

"She's perfectly capable of – of –" Jack faltered, as he looked again at Elizabeth.

"You know Elizabeth is not the one to take the Trident," Armando said in a low voice, "And you know Lady Carina needs rescuing." Armando's chest rose and fell as he drew in a deep breath. "There are few courses of action left available. I believe we may… mutually benefit one another."

Jack's gaze snapped back towards Armando in surprise.

"El Capitán Diablo…" A slow grin spread on Jack's face, "Are you trying to _parley_?"

Armando coolly studied him. "You touched the Trident."

A darkness shadowed Jack's face fleetingly, before he shook it off. "An' what of it, mate? Don't tell me you're actually interested in how the Trident works now?"

"It did something to you, didn't it?" Armando insisted. "Made you mad."

"Nothin' of the sort." Jack said abruptly. "Where did you get that idea?"

"But you told me yourself, Sparrow," Armando smiled thinly. "What was it you said? That you know what madness looks like?"

"I'm looking at an excellent candidate for madness right now," Jack said dryly.

"But of course you know what madness looks like…" Armando continued as though Jack had not spoken. "Because you see it every time you look in a mirror."

That same shadow manifested again, frighteningly harsh on Jack's face, but Armando was undeterred.

"So enlighten me, Sparrow." Armando said. "What happened when you touched the Trident? Hmm? And why didn't you keep it?" He shook his head at Jack's hesitation. "All that power surely would've been irresistible, to a pirate..."

"The Trident ain't what you lot keep thinking it is." Jack leaned in. "I mean, sure, it'll break that nasty curse you got. Set you and Henry free. Give you back what you lost."

Jack's expression grew remote. "But that's the problem. To do that, you don't just gotta touch the Trident. You gotta win it over. You gotta be stronger than it, because if you ain't, it'll tear you apart. It's not just some magic stick you can wave around and it does what you want. It's _alive_."

Armando stared as Jack's face shifted again, becoming somehow otherworldly, a face of sharp contrasts, of light and shadow, indifferent and cold.

"It holds all the power of the sea, and it's still never satisfied. If you touch it, it’ll want everything you have. Everything you are. To hold it means you lose everything human about yourself." Jack's struggle was palpable. "Took me everything to let it go. And sometimes… sometimes I think it took bits of me away with it… cos it knew I was gonna leave it. It wanted to make it so that one day, I'd eventually have to come back for it."

"So that is why the Sparrow is afraid." Armando said slowly. "That is why you don't want to find it again."

"It's not a case of finding it." Jack's eyes were black and cold. "I know exactly where it is. I've always known. I can feel it."

Jack shuddered, and closed his eyes, before opening them to look at Armando again, his face normal once more; only creased now with weariness.

"So what now, Capitán?” Jack tried to sound light. “We gonna leave the others behind, an' go off after the Trident together?"

"No, no, no, no, no." Armando shook his head. "First, we rescue Carina. Then – we'll see about the Trident."

"Gotta be more'n that.” Jack tilted his head shrewdly. “Elizabeth is gonna be wanting her son Henry returned to her, all safe and sound like. So I'll help yer rescue yer girl, and then I'll take yer to the Trident," the same shadow crossed his face again, and Jack took a deep breath, before saying, "But _I'll_ be the one to get it. I'll be the one to set Henry free from yer. That's _my_ terms. So do I have your word that you'll let me use the Trident? That yer won't try an’ interfere with it?"

"Carina must be safe. If… you help me save her…" Armando spoke as though the words were heavy rocks in his mouth, "I give you my word, Sparrow, if you help me save Carina, I will make sure Niñito is returned safe to his mother." He looked up at Jack, "But Carina must be saved first!"

"So," Jack smirked, "Yer gonna work with me! The great El Matador Del Mar is gonna work with Jack Sparrow."

Armando's eyes flamed a bright orange. "Cuidado, Sparrow. Puede que me haya cambiado el abrigo, pero no mi disposición."

"Oh, well in that case," Jack made a show of playing with the beads in his beard, "Maybe I should think about it first, y'know, turn it over in me head for a bit…"

"¡Hijo de mil cabras! Carina's in danger en este momento, because you stopped me from saving her!"

"I saved yer life yer stupid idiot!" Jack scowled.

"You?" Armando scoffed. "You only do what benefits you!"

"Slander!" Jack protested, "Absolute lies!"

"Pon un anillo de oro en el hocico de un cerdo y sigue siendo un cerdo," Armando sneered. "You're a pirate, Sparrow, and though I may have to ask your help for the sake of mi Ángel, you will always be a pirate."

"Out of the two of us, mate," Jack winked, "I reckon you're the bigger pirate."

"Vete a la mierda, Sparrow!" Armando snarled. "I am nothing like you!"

"You'll take, an’ lie, an’ kill just to get what you want mate – and if that ain't being a pirate I don't know what is!"

A pistol suddenly tapped Jack on the back of the head.

"Not a sound, Jack," said a gruff voice. "Or I got El Capitán's permission to blow your brains out."

It was Scrum, together with the former crew of the Dying Gull, standing grimly behind him.

Jack raised his hands in surrender.

"Stand down, men," Armando commanded. "The Sparrow has agreed to help us."

Reluctantly, Scrum lifted his pistol away from Jack. "Ready when you are, then, Capitán."

"El Capitán," Bollard knelt, proffering Armando's dagger, still in its sheath.

Jack's eyes widened as Armando stepped beyond the circle of white stones, and he started to back away, but Scrum pushing his pistol into his shoulder blades stopped him going any further.

"How – how in the bloody hell –?" Jack gaped.

Marty waved a white stone at Jack, grinning; and Jack realised for the first time the circle of white stones was missing one.

"Ah..." Jack said. "So… you been free this whole time?"

"Niñito said you needed to believe you were safe," Armando took the dagger from Bollard, this time securing it to his belt, "Otherwise you would never have talked so much."

 “But,” Jack frowned. "Our bargain still stands?"

"It does." Armando was grim. " _Until_ Carina is safe, and I am freed."

"And after…?"

Armando ignored Jack's question to dismiss his men, before turning back.

"If I have even the smallest suspicion you are betraying me, Sparrow,” his eyes flared malevolently, “I will not hesitate to end your life, Trident or no.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Aún no – Not yet
> 
> ¡Dios mío, me pone enfermo! - My God, it makes me sick!
> 
> Cuidado, Sparrow – Careful, Sparrow
> 
> Puede que me haya cambiado el abrigo, pero no mi disposición – I may have changed my coat, but not my disposition
> 
> (an old proverb about wolves; basically meaning Armando may have changed ‘sides’ by working with a pirate, but underneath he still has the same animosity towards Jack)
> 
> ¡Hijo de mil cabras! – Son of a thousand goats!
> 
> En este momento – Right this moment
> 
> Pon un anillo de oro en el hocico de un cerdo y sigue siendo un cerdo – Put a gold ring in a pig's snout and it's still a pig
> 
> Vete a la mierda, Sparrow! – F*ck you, Sparrow!


	28. The Headlong Fury Of His Speed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But nothing can affection's course control, or stop the headlong fury of his speed...  
> William Shakespeare

 

Death stood on the shore of the island, patiently watching the approach of the two ships.

He knew it would not be long now. Not more than 44 minutes and 6 seconds precisely, judging by the Life-Timer he held.

Death had countless Life-Timers in his house, all of them reflective of the life they measured. But the one he currently held was one of the more – unusual ones.

For it was Calypso’s.

Constantly damp, permeating the air with the barren smell of incessant tides and a hint of heartache: a large, green-tinged malformation of sunbleached coral and wet driftwood twisting around the worn glass, crowned with phosphorescent-tipped sharp spines.

It looked as wild and untameable as the goddess whose life it measured.

The fine black sand within the glass – like volcanic sand, from the very deepest seabed of the loneliest chasm of the ocean – trickled unstoppably.

There wasn’t much sand left now.

Even gods and goddesses couldn’t live forever.

Not that Death couldn’t appreciate why Calypso was avoiding him. He knew exactly why.

It was what most rulers did, once they could accept that their existence was coming to an end.

If they couldn’t live forever, they’d do the next best thing.

They’d arrange for a successor.

 

* * *

 

“There is a risk involved in taking the Trident." Scarfield told his sisters without preamble. “It has protections that will interfere with our touching it directly."

The hags hissed in dismay.

_What protectionsss brother?_

"It is at the bottom of the sea for one. And it can only be taken from its resting place by human hands."

_But you know where it isssss?_

"Yes, and better: Miss Smyth will direct us straight to it. The island itself is a map, and will point to where in the sea it is. And when we have found it, she is the human who will take it for us."

Carina stiffened at his words, hands clenching involuntarily on the bed spread as she finally managed to lever herself up into a sitting position.

"Once she has taken it,” Scarfield continued, “I imagine whatever protections Poseidon has placed on it will be satisfied, and she can then give it to us."

Mrs Onslow turned hollow eyes in Carina's direction.

_But isssss she to be trusssted?_

"Naturally." Scarfield was supremely confident. "Miss Smyth still retains a great deal of compassion for your husband. We will take Mr Onslow with us, and _that_ will assure her compliance."

 _Compassion!_ She cackled, amused. _Humans are sssuch foolsss._

"But her remaining a human is undeniably useful to us," Scarfield tilted his head.

Mrs Onslow shrugged, her hollow gaze sliding again towards Carina.

 _And after?_ She grinned, showing her teeth. _You ssstill plan to keep her?_

"My decision on that has not changed." Scarfield said coldly. "She belongs to me.”

Carina snorted.

"You are incredulous, Miss Smyth?"

For a moment, Carina felt the sinking terror slide inside, as all three turned towards her. She pulled up all her loathing for them, and looked straight back.

"You think I’m a fool," she told them. “But it’s you. You’re the fools!”

“And,” Scarfield smiled. "May one ask why?"

"I'll let you find out for yourself."

Instantly a coldness slithered up her arms, and the pressure of the hags' powers sliced into her mind.

She stiffened suddenly at the invasion, paralysed again.

"Come, my sisters," Scarfield chided softly. "She can speak for herself."

_But she thinks we are ssssstupid, brother._

_She thinksssss we are arrogant._

_She hopessssss you will die, when she givesss you the Trident._

To have her thoughts spoken out loud made her shudder; with a fierce growl, Carina pushed them out of her mind, the resistance making her sweat and her fingernails cut into her palms from the effort.

 _Ssssssso ssstubborn_ , they grinned.

"Horrible crones!" Carina spat at them.

 _Perhapsss we should take ssome of the othersss with uss,_ Mrs Besançon was thoughtful _, in casse thiss one isss too disssobedient…_

“She won’t fail.”

 _But my hussband might,_ Mrs Onslow mused. _If he diesss too ssoon, who will we have to make the girl do what we want?_

"Then go!" Scarfield was impatient. "Go, sisters, get the rest that are left.”

_There’sss only my husband and hisss loyal friend…_

_Yesss, and the oness that do not ssmell tasssty…_

They shrank into the shadows, their sibilant murmurs fading with them.

"My sisters do enjoy their freedom," Scarfield feigned an apologetic tone. "It has been a long time for them. Dear Mrs Dix forced them to keep their human guise between full moons, in order to… assimilate better into society. The pleasure of being free to be their true selves all the time, with no restrictions, is somewhat – intoxicating for them."

"And why don't you join them?" Carina swallowed. "Why don't _you_ show your 'true self'?"

“You ask this?” Scarfield looked at her. “Even though my sisters frighten you?”

“Well, at least _they’re_ honest about it. They don’t pretend.”

“Is it really honesty you wish for, Miss Smyth?” He eyed her corset. “Though, I can see you yourself have embraced honesty, at last, dressed as you are for your proper station.”

Carina swore at him, using the choicest of sailor-talk she'd ever overheard in her life.

Scarfield pressed his lips together in rage, making a visible effort to control his anger.

"It is fortunate I still have use for you as a human, Miss Smyth," he said coolly. "Come. We will be rowing ashore soon, and you will not leave my side until I am holding the Trident of Poseidon."

 

* * *

 

Once the last of the men had fulfilled their orders, and safely slipped over the side of the Wench to climb down into the smallboat, Armando turned burning eyes towards the ship's wheel.

Niñito's father was still deep in discussion with his mother, neither of them apparently having noticed the actions of the crew – nor their present absence.

Jack heaved a big sigh. "Elizabeth's gonna kill me for this."

"Come, Sparrow," Armando growled. "There is something I must test first."

Armando turned and locked his arms about Jack.

"Er…" Jack gulped as Armando pressed his chest against him. "N-not that I'm not… you're... I mean, Henry's a pretty attractive bloke an' all..."

"Shut up!" Armando closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.

Jack tried to shift a little in Armando's tight embrace.

"Stop moving!" Armando growled, eyes still shut.

Jack froze awkwardly.

"I said not to move!"

"I ain't moving!"

"Then why is your pistol poking me?"

"Pistol? Um… right... yeah, that is absolutely my –"

Suddenly Jack and Armando disappeared.

Only to reappear at the ship's wheel.

Jack leaned heavily sideways.

“– pistol," he said faintly, before falling back heavily against the hull.

Shocked by their unexpected appearance, Elizabeth was slow to draw – and Armando had his dagger unsheathed before she could even move.

Will however, was faster to react.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," Will whispered, as he threw an arm up around Elizabeth's neck and pressed against her throat.

 _Bloody hell!_ Henry cried loudly. _Bloody hell! Father’s choking her!_

"No, Niñito," Armando calmed Henry, "He is going to take her away." He scowled at Will. "Though your son and I would've preferred an attempt at reasoning with her."

Will ignored them, whispering apologies in Elizabeth’s ear, over and over, until she went limp; then Will instantly released her from the chokehold.

"That wasn't – very nice," Jack protested, trying to straighten up onto his feet, but it was apparent he was still too dizzy to do more than stagger sideways again.

Will ignored him, looking up at Armando instead as he pulled Elizabeth's unconscious body into his arms.

"I take it your men are already in the smallboat?" Will asked.

Armando nodded.

Without another word, Will pushed past them and strode away, Elizabeth in his arms.

"Bastard!" Jack cursed after him, but Will did not stop. "Bloody… eunuch!"

"Enough, Sparrow," Armando said. "We survive this, you can insult him forever after."

Sheathing his dagger, Armando smoothed fingers over the well-worn spindles of the Wench's wheel.

"Errrgh." Jack bent over, clutching his knees.

Armando cast him a glance. "Are you well, Sparrow?"

"That was… that was a bugger of a thing to do to a bloke!" Jack lurched over to clutch the rails forward of the wheel. “Errrrgh!”

 _See!_ Henry leapt in. _It's not just me! Bloody dizzying, that ghost stuff you do!_

"But you are in one piece?" Armando queried, with a slight edge of a smile.

"Dunno." Jack patted himself down unsteadily. "I seem to be."

Armando was satisfied. "Then it is good. I can do it again."

 _I wish you wouldn't,_ Henry sulked.

Jack looked distinctly queasy. "Just… just give a bit of warnin' before yer do it again."

"Bah, you sound like Niñito." Armando chuckled a little, before turning his gaze towards the island.

He could see his men, just rowing clear of the Wench towards the shore as he’d told them to. Niñito's father was wedged in amongst them too, still clutching Elizabeth in his arms.

 _Well, at least Mother is safe,_ Henry said reluctantly. _But she's going to be in a towering rage when she wakes._

"But it is better she is alive," Armando consoled him. "What we are about to do is very dangerous."

 _I know,_ Henry sighed. _But I'm with you._

Armando paused.

"Thank you, Niñito," he said softly.

 _Saving Carina is more important right now_ , Henry answered.

"Niñito," Armando hesitated, "I am sorry. For those things I said. About… about your father. If we do not survive this, I wanted you to know, it was unfair of me to say them to you."

He could feel Henry's immediate response, surprise and warmth and compassion; but for the first time Armando didn't mind feeling it. It was… pleasant.

 _Well…_ Henry tried to pretend to be gruff, _don't think I’ve forgiven you!_

"Of course not." Armando smirked.

_I'm not joking! Once you're free, I have half a mind to challenge you to a duel!_

"Niñito, you wouldn't fight me!" Armando laughed. "You like me too much!"

Jack turned and looked at him curiously.

 _Oh, I don't know_ , Henry sounded sly. _I think a proper duel for the fair Carina's hand, to help her see that I am definitely the better man_ –

"¿Valora tu vida?” Armando growled. “Do you _want_ to die, Niñito?"

Henry laughed. _Come on, let's get to saving her. We can fight later!_

"You're right," Armando began to turn the wheel hard, the Wench creaking in protest as it shifted its course towards the Essex.

"I am coming, Carina." Armando whispered, as the sails filled, "I’m coming.”

 

* * *

 

Carina could do nothing but watch helplessly from the forecastle as Mr Onslow was forced, along with three of the remaining survivors of St Martin, across the deck.

Some distance away, Mrs. Besançon leant against the gunwale and watched, no apparent emotion on her unnatural features.

Standing next to Carina, Scarfield was equally as dispassionate in observing the proceedings.

"Hurry along there," Scarfield commanded. "Into the smallboat with them, and be quick about it!"

Scarfield's men acknowledged the command by prodding the prisoners hard in the back.

"'Ere," screeched one, a plump lady with scraggly hair and a swollen nose, "Don't yer dare touch me, yer mucky nasty things!"

A man with a rather bulbous nose pushed in between to spit at them.

“Get yer ‘ands off of Lu!” he bared yellowed teeth in a sneer. "Filthy grave rats!"

Thankfully, Scarfield was not paying attention; he’d turned away at that moment to hiss in low sibilants at his helmsman; both of them gesturing towards something starboard.

“Enough,” said the fourth, an officer in torn and blood-stained naval uniform to the pair, “Don’t provoke them.”

The officer turned back to Mr Onslow, offering his support to him as he limped along; but not before shooting a hard glance towards Scarfield.

Carina immediately recognised him.

It was the same stern-faced officer who'd accompanied Mr Onslow when she'd first arrived at St Martin.

Seeing him now, walking proudly past Scarfield, she found herself grateful to him – if for no other reason than his apparent refusal to leave Mr Onslow's side, or be turned into a monster like his fellowmen had been.

Scarfield caught the young man’s hostility, and broke off his instructions to the helmsman.

"Officer Fields," Scarfield called.

The young man holding Mr Onslow did not stop.

"Officer Fields!" Scarfield called louder.

The creatures around them stood in their way, forcing Mr Onslow and the young man to finally stop.

"No second thoughts, Fields?"

The young man did not even deign to answer.

"Oh, well," Scarfield sneered. "It is no very great loss."

From out of the shadows, Mrs Onslow took form, cackling as she slid up next to Scarfield.

The young man stiffened.

_And he wasss ssso loyal to my ssson… while my ssson wasss alive…_

"Well, it appears his loyalty does not extend to us." Scarfield said idly. "On to the boat with them."

Carina heard Mr Onslow stifle a choked sob, and saw the spasm of grief on Officer Field's face at the mention of Mr Onslow's son.

 _Foolish humansss!_ Mrs Onslow cackled again as they were shepherded away.

 

* * *

 

While the men huffed and pulled the smallboat up the black sands of the island's shore, Will carefully lay Elizabeth down on the hard rocky ground, before standing to look about him.

The island was unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

Countless jewels were spinning out across the black rocks of the island: only they weren't just randomly placed jewels. They were planets and star-chains and spiralling rings, bright comets and strange moons and celestial wonders Will couldn't even name, gracing the dark in an intricately laid pattern Will knew was beyond even his comprehension to understand.

Behind him, he heard the footfalls of the Gull's former crew, as they came to a stop to stare as well.

Scrum drew in a deep breath. "Innit..."

"Unh." Bollard stared, open-mouthed at the jewels, sparkling and twinkling, in the rays of the setting sun.

".. beautiful." Jib whispered reverently.

"Treasure!" Pike exclaimed excitedly. "It's the treasure El Capitán promised!"

"How much you think one of these are worth?" Jib reached out to touch a jewel, cresting a dark rock nearby.

"Don't!" Scrum said quickly.

"But –" Jib protested.

“Don’t touch a thing!” Scrum said roughly.

“But why not?”

“Ain’t our first country dance, gents!” Scrum snapped. “This ain’t the kinda place where yer go putting yer grubby mitts into everything – not unless yer want something bad t’happen.”

“Can’t I just take a little one –?”

"No!" Scrum turned slowly about, before stopping to peer at something in the distance. “Well, would yer look at that…”

"What is it?" Pike was impatient. “What’re you looking at?”

Scrum tilted his head.

He pulled out the journal from his jacket pocket, and held it up, studying the cover.

"I think..." he said slowly, "There's one missing."

"What?" Will looked over Scrum's shoulder at the journal. "What’s missing?"

"See here?" Scrum tapped the cover. "There's a constellation 'ere, the same one Lady Carina was using to navigate us with... an' I think that's it – that one there."

Will looked in the direction Scrum was pointing.

"One of them’s not glowing like the others," Will said.

"That it isn’t..." Pike whistled. “But why wouldn’t it be?”

“D’yer think it means somethin’?” Bollard asked.

"I think..." Scrum pulled out the uncut red ruby, “I think – maybe that's what this is for..."

“Well, then.” Will turned to Scrum. “Shall we?”

Scrum hesitated.

“Go on!” said Pike excitedly. “Maybe if that’s the missing one, an’ we put it back, there’ll be a secret trapdoor or something what opens up!”

“Or maybe a secret door,” enthused Jib. “Into a cave!”

“A cave with lots of gold!” Bollard exclaimed.

“Well,” Scrum flicked a glance back towards where the Wicked Wench had turned broadside on the waters. “Alright. But no matter what happens, we wait for El Capitán, alright? I don’t care if the sea itself parts, we wait for ‘im. No dashing off ahead without ‘im!”

Will nodded, eyes shuttered. “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Armando strode along the line of cannons on the gun deck, ducking under the low wooden beams with the ease of habit, while Jack followed along behind.

"I hope you know how to fire a cannon, Sparrow," he said over his shoulder as they went.

"What?” Jack struggled to keep up. “You can’t be serious! We can’t possibly load all these cannons by ourselves!”

“Of course not.” Armando scoffed. “My men have already done so.”

"You mean,” Jack’s mouth dropped open. “We been standing above fully loaded cannons this whole time?"

“What else did you think my men were doing?” Armando shook his head derisively.

"What – _all_ the cannons here?"

“Of course not! They couldn't precisely load the upper deck cannons without being noticed, Sparrow.”

“I meant – never mind. Which ones?”

"Just these on portside."

Jack inspected the nearest cannon, a quill already inserted in the vent, waiting to be lit. He rested a hand lightly on top of the cannon's base – and then quickly jerked it back.

"Ow!" he shook his burnt fingers. "It's _hot_!"

"Stupido!" Armando muttered. "Of course it's hot! Ninito's mother has been heating shots in reserve since St Martin."

Jack stopped. "But she never said anything to me!"

Armando rolled his eyes. "She is a competent Capitán, she doesn't spill her secrets to just anyone!"

"But… you loaded them hot!" Jack looked down the line of cannons again. "It's a wonder we're still alive!"

"My men know how to follow orders!" Armando glared. "I told them how to safely do so."

Jack raised an eyebrow as Armando passed him a tinderbox.

" _Do_ you know how to fire?" Armando asked.

“Course I do!” Jack took it, before twisting his mouth in an expression of doubt. "You _sure_ you wanna do this, mate?"

"¡Hazlo rapido!" Armando started to strike his steel against the flint. "We have only nine loaded cannons this side, and then we must return to the wheel.”

He dipped his match into the burning tinder until it lit, and then touched it against the quill. Once the quill caught, Armando moved rapidly to the next cannon.

"Don't just stand there!" Armando ordered Jack. "¡Darse prisa!"

Jack started to move, but not without saying as he went past, "Really never thought I'd see a bloke madder than me …"

"Stay clear of the recoil, Sparrow." Armando snapped. "Wouldn't do to lose you too soon."

And then the first cannon exploded a cherry-red cannonball violently out towards the Essex.

 

* * *

 

From the deck of the Essex, the sound of cannonfire was a distant crack across the waters – and then a nearer crack below them, as the first shot found its target.

The Wench was firing at them – and shot after shot landed.

Within minutes it was over, but the Wench was by no means done.

Carina watched in amazed hope as it swivelled to face them head on, her sails flaring out determinedly, a forceful breeze behind her.

And then, it happened.

Carina hunched involuntarily as a loud _bang_ rang out from the side that had been hit.

Decking blasted up and out as the gunpowder the Essex had been carrying ignited from a stray hot cannonball, and the Essex itself lifted up almost ten feet from the force of it, before crashing back down into the water.

And then, inevitably, the ship began listing towards its damaged side, as water was sucked into the great gash blown in its hull.

Thick smoke began to curl up through the broken deck.

The Essex was simultaneously burning and sinking.

Dozens of creatures slithered out from below decks, hissing urgently at each other; Scarfield ordered them about furiously.

Carina looked towards Mr Onslow, towards where he and the others had crouched in refuge at the explosion on the far side of the Essex; and she knew if there was ever a time to be escaping, it was now. While Scarfield was distracted by the chaos, they could escape in the smallboat. She started to slip away, intent on reaching the others.

Scarfield hissed one last fierce command at the helmsman, before turning and taking hold of Carina by the arm.

" _Not_ without me, Miss Smyth,” he said tersely.

“You’re too late!” She shoved him away.

"Look at me, Miss Smyth,” he pulled her in very close. “If I must keep you from doing something rash, _I will..."_

Scarfield's hand squeezed the back of her neck, his awful empty eyes filling her vision.

_Obey me, Carina…_

Again, Carina felt the unwelcome paralysis overtake her limbs.

_Stop ressisssting…_

And then time seemed to slow down to a painful crawl around her…

Carina felt the slow, steady invasion of Scarfield into her mind, and she wanted to vomit, wanted to run, but he held her in place, as the essence of wet charred wood and the pungency of burnt flesh inched into her thoughts.

With the last vestiges of resistance she could muster, she tore her gaze away from his, turning her head just enough to look away over his shoulder… towards where the Wench was still coming on.

It was so close now, close enough that Carina could just make out the two figures at the wheel, one wearing a tricorn hat and the other clad all in black…

Her face lit in hope.

"Armando!"

Scarfield jerked back as though he’d been punched.

"I told you he’d come!" Carina pulled away triumphantly. "I warned you!"

"And I warned _you_ , Miss Smyth – if you do not obey me, I will make sure those wretched souls from St Martin pay for every act of rebellion you attempt!" Scarfield wrenched her along with him. "So you will come without a fuss, _now_."

 

* * *

 

Jack and Armando had bounded out to the upper deck the moment the last fuse had been lit, and it was with cruel elation that Armando was back on deck just in time to witness the side of the Essex explode.

At best, Armando had hoped the Essex would be slowed down; at worst, that the cannonfire would serve merely as a confusion tactic. It’d been a risk, firing at them; but with battle imminent, Armando was sure the Lieutenant would keep Carina in the Captain’s cabin.

He hoped so.

God help him if she was hurt in any way.

 “This favourable wind is really unusual…” Sparrow squinted up at the sails overhead as Armando drove the Wicked Wench in a straight line for the Essex. “If I didn’t know better…”

“Enough chatter,” Armando scolded. “Get rope!”

Together, Jack and Armando tightly lashed the ship’s wheel in place with rope secured to the railing.

Armando then turned and grabbed Sparrow.

"Ready, Sparrow?"

"What? You mean…" Jack blanched. "Oh, bugger!"

"You are with me to the end Sparrow," Armando held him firmly. "We rescue Carina, and then we go to the Trident."

Jack shut his eyes tightly. "Right, just bloody get it over with then!"

Armando looked over Sparrow's shoulder, towards the Essex. He was close enough now that he was sure he could see Carina – her long dark hair stark against the paleness of her corset, her torn petticoat barely covering her knees – being forced by the Lieutenant across the deck.

The cowardly Lieutenant was trying to escape. And he was taking Carina with him.

At that precise moment, she seemed to turn her face towards the Wench, towards him, and over the ever diminishing stretch of water between them, Armando could've sworn their eyes locked.

"Carina…" he whispered.

 

* * *

 

Scarfield grunted when Carina suddenly yanked herself out of Scarfield's grasp, at the same moment that he felt a sharp blow just beneath his shoulder blade.

With a snarl of frustration Scarfield turned.

"Miss Smyth, you were warned –"

A second blow hit him directly in the chest.

Bewildered, Scarfield looked down.

The handle of a dagger was protruding just left of his sternum, between his ribs.

A strong hand grasped the handle, and yanked it painfully up and out in a vicious slashing motion.

Scarfield looked up, perplexed, at eyes lit like a blazing sunset.

“Vuelve al infierno,” A Spanish voice said softly. “Tues malparido.”

Scarfield tried to draw his sword, but his movements were sluggish, the heavy loss of black blood pouring out of the wounds in his shoulder and chest weakening him.

Around him, Scarfield could sense the fear and confusion of his creatures, hissing fearfully to one another as they backed away from their wounded master.

Scarfield reeled backwards as he fumbled again in an attempt to defend himself with his sword.

Armando started to advance on him.

Scarfield hit the edge of the gunwale.

“ _Now_ , I will watch you die,” Armando lifted his dagger, his eyes now a lurid gold, grimly determined to cut Scarfield’s throat.

With one last look of hate at Carina, Scarfield tumbled himself over the edge.

They heard a distant splash far below.

“ **¡** Cobarde!” Armando cried. “Come back and fight!”

 _My brother… my brother!_  Mrs Onslow hissed.

Jack, Armando and Carina turned.

Mrs Onslow stood some fifteen feet away, still rooted to the spot from the shock of their sudden appearance and attack on Scarfield.

She stared at each of them, as though trying to decide which she was going to kill first, before finally settling on Carina.

 _Bitch!_ She gnashed her teeth. _You bitch!_

Her hiss became an insane shriek, and she began to rush at them, blind in her rage. _I’ll kill you!_

“Bugger,” Jack started in fear, and unsheathed his sword in just enough time to impale the hag on the length of it.

She shrieked even louder, and scrabbled uselessly at them with claw-like nails as Jack held her at arm’s length.

“Kill her, Sparrow!” Armando shouted over her shrieks.

“I’m bloody trying!” Jack yelled back, trying to pull his sword out of her, but it seemed firmly stuck.

“Allow me,” came a chilly voice.

Officer Fields appeared behind her, wrenched Mrs Onslow backwards off of Jack’s sword and forced her, teeth-snapping and screaming incoherently, to her knees.

“Would you like the honour, sir, or shall I?” he said.

“Uh –” Jack frowned in confusion, but Officer Fields wasn’t addressing him.

He was looking at Mr Onslow.

Mr Onslow held out his hand to Jack.

“Give it to me,” he said.

Somewhat bewildered, Jack handed him his sword.

Around them the creatures hissed and retreated even more, as the deck grew increasingly hot from the slowly growing fire underneath.

Mrs Onslow, seeing her husband standing in front of her, cackled wildly.

 _You fool,_ she laughed, _you don’t have the –_

With a strong swing, Mr Onslow decapitated her.

Her head rolled away across the deck, and her corpse collapsed forward with a heavy thump as Officer Fields released her.

Mr Onslow passed the sword to Jack without a word. He turned a blank face back to the body on the deck, slimy black blood seeping from her severed neck, and cut short an abrupt sob.

Officer Fields reached out, steadying him with a strong arm.

“It’s alright, sir,” Fields said. “It’s alright.”

 

* * *

 

“I dunno, Turner,” Scrum looked between the red rock in his hand and the spiky nest of dull red crystals before him. “Something tells me we should wait to make sure El Capitán gets back here alright with Lady Carina.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Will tried to sound careless. “See? Look, you can just put it right in here, and then we can at least see if anything happens.”

“Hmmmm,” Bollard scratched his chin, “Yeah, but after all… maybe… we should wait for El Capitán to get here.”

“Well, personally,” Will shrugged, “I don’t think putting the rock in is going to do anything anyway.”

“Still…” Scrum hedged. “I just got a gut feelin’.”

“How do you know you can trust ‘El Capitán’ anyway?” Will pretended to be casual. “I mean, if there’s gold, what if he’s planning on taking all that gold for himself?”

“Pfffft,” Pike snorted. “El Capitán ain’t never shown interest in gold!”

“Yeah, he even let us take all of Jack’s gold off of him!” Bollard grinned.

 “Devil don’t have no need for gold,” Jib agreed. “Probably bores him.”

“Yeah,” Pike was suddenly nervous as a thought struck him. “I mean, it’d be great if it really is gonna open up a cave with treasure, but… if we piss off El Capitán by doing it without ‘im – well, don’t matter ‘ow much treasure there is, can’t enjoy it if we’re dead.”

“An’ if he’s _very_ pissed off, he might not send our souls to heaven!” Bollard’s brow furrowed.

“Bugger me, ‘adn’t thought of that!” Pike’s eyes grew round.

“I think we’ll wait for El Capitán, then.” Scrum nodded decisively.

Will rolled his eyes and sighed.

“I really didn’t want to do this,” he sighed, and then smartly rapped Scrum in the face.

Scrum howled and clutched his nose, dropping the red rock.

Will caught it and turned swiftly, sliding it into place.

At once the rock began to vibrate.

From the sea came an answering tremor, and the ground itself began to shake underneath them.

The red crystals began to glow, illumined somehow from deep within, until a searing light shot out, linking up with the other points of the constellation.

“What have you done!” Scrum shouted. “What the hell have you done!”

The surface of the sea began to swirl, white and foamy, before – incredibly – cutting itself neatly apart in an ever-widening chasm – that split right through to the very place they were standing.

Scrum went white as the ground crumbled beneath their feet.

“Oh, f –”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¿Valora tu vida? - Do you value your life?
> 
> Hazlo rapido - Do it quickly!
> 
> Darse prisa - Hurry up!
> 
> Vuelve al infierno – Go back to hell
> 
> Tues malparido - Basically means 'You were born wrong'; in English the approximate meaning is 'You bastard', but in a far more meaningfully offensive way
> 
> Cobarde - Coward
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Please don't blame Jack for responding to being in close proximity to Armando... Anyone would carry a pistol for him. Heck, I just have to hear Spanish spoken out loud and I can't possibly be held responsible for any reactions on my part...


	29. The Trident of...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise, everyone, for all mistakes! I am operating on two hours of sleep but please do bear with me - I am so Keen to get these last chapters out for you!

 

On the deck of the Essex, the creatures backed away, hissing in dismay.

“An’ let that be a lesson ter yer!” Jack said roundly, as he shook the vile blood off his black-stained sword.

The creatures melted away completely into the shadows, and the sole remaining humans stood alone on the deck of the sinking ship.

“Excuse me… uh, sirs,” Fields addressed Jack and Armando for the first time, “But whatever you can do to get us off of this ship, please – do so in all expedience!”

“Us?” Jack squinted at Fields. “How many of you are there?”

“Just Mr Onslow and – myself – and two others.”

Armando frowned. “What others, Señor?”

He turned in the direction Fields gestured in; and, huddling together near Carina, were –

“ _You_!” Armando was astonished.

“’Ere, we don’t want no trouble,” Ralph nervously pressed a protective arm around Lu.

“That we don’t!” Lu agreed hastily.

Carina looked between Armando, Lu and Ralph, confused. “You know eachother?”

“They tried to rob me!” Armando glared.

“We ain’t never tried robbin’ anyone since,” Lu gulped, “We been on th’ straight an’ narrow, we swear!”

“’Pon my honour,” Ralph crossed himself, “We learnt our lesson, sir, an’ we been good!”

Armando opened his mouth to growl a rejection of the likelihood of that, when Carina gasped faintly and pointed to starboard.

“A-Armando…”

The Wench was still headed towards them, full sails billowing from the driving wind behind her, barely 500 yards out from ramming into the Essex.

“Much as I hate it,” Jack plucked at Armando’s sleeve, “Now might be a good time to do yer little magic trick, and get us all off this –”

But Armando had begun to walk unsteadily across the tilting deck, staring in disbelief – but not at the Wench.

“Um…?” Jack said. “We kinda need to _go_?”

“¡Mira!” Armando called back. “Carina, look!”

The island was lit up.

A five pointed constellation, a Trident, shone brightly, linked with red beams of light.

And from the deep came an answering roar to the light, an ancient power slowly waking from its long slumber.

The surface of the sea began to foam white, ripples becoming small swells becoming waves.

The waters were parting.

They watched as the sea violently protested the unnatural division, but invisible forces kept pushing it back, sending waves to smash against the sides of the sinking ship they clung to.

The Wench, lifting for a serene moment on the crest of a giant swell, lingered, her bow saluting the sky – before slowly slipping backwards and over the edge of the growing abyss to crash on the seafloor far below.

“Dios mío...” Armando was pale.

“Bloody ‘ell!” Lu shouted, “We’re all gonna die!”

“Armando!” Carina was at his side, as the ever widening chasm approached the Essex. “Armando, you have to take us all!”

Armando hesitated. “I do not know if – I do not think I can take more than one at a time –”

Carina rested a hand against his cheek.

“Do what you can,” she whispered urgently.

“With all due respect, uh… sir,” Officer Fields cleared his throat, “But however you can get us away from this infernal ship is fine by us.”

“Very well,” Armando took Carina’s hand from his cheek, hurriedly pressed his lips to it. “I will try.”

Armando took one last glance back at the chasm, and then at the five around him.

“Come, all of you, al tiempo! And hold on.”

He wrapped an arm about Carina and drew her firmly against himself, as the Essex tipped and shifted closer to the edge.

Armando held out his other hand out to Jack. “Sparrow, ven aquí!”

Jack winced, even as he reached out to grasp Armando’s hand.

“Come,” Armando snapped as the others hesitated, bewildered. “There is no time! Come and take hold and do not let go!”

The Essex lurched violently up again as he spoke, before crashing down as a large wave rolled underneath.

The others hurriedly rushed forward to take hold of him, forming a tightly knit group.

They were now almost at the very edge of the chasm.

Armando’s salt-stiff coat chafed Carina’s cheek as she wrapped her arms even more tightly around his chest. Lifting her eyes to his face, she saw the determined tension of his jaw, and with all her heart she hoped what he was planning would work.

Armando closed his eyes.

The Essex lurched up, higher than it had yet, and they all clutched on.

“Mi Ángel,” she heard him whisper.

They began to tip sideways over the edge, there was an awful sensation of falling backwards, the icy wind rushed around them, and for one hideous second Carina was sure that this was it, they were all falling to their deaths…

Then Carina felt a cold unlike any she’d ever felt in her life before, a chill that seemed to pass directly through her very bones, and the world about her diffracted, dust-like, into a spectrum of spinning colours and displaced sounds…

Instinctively she locked herself to Armando, burying her face in his coat, trying to block out the overwhelming sensations…

Somewhere, she heard the sounds of splintering wood, the deafening crack of heavy iron cannons hitting hard ground, and then a strangely echoing explosion, as though they had moved away very quickly in a very short amount of time…

…and then there was solid ground beneath her feet again.

 

* * *

 

Carina opened her eyes.

Blue walls of water stretched up on either side.

Wet sandy bedrock was under her bare feet, encrusted with shells and thick, slimy algae.

The smell was suffocating.

Things long buried in the brine that had never been exposed to the air now filled her lungs with their cloying pungency.

The driving wind tunnelled through the chasm; whipping salt spray into the air as it went, playfully exulting in the unnatural space.

Of the Essex itself, there was hardly anything recognisable left: a smouldering, charred ruin of the fine ship it had been only minutes before; the remaining gunpowder having exploded against the hot cannonballs upon impact.

She knew they’d barely made it.

“Carina…”

Armando was leaning heavily to the side, his eyes unfocused.

“Carina, I’m… weak.”

Carina tried to take a step towards him, but the ground had other ideas, threatening to tip upside down if she moved. Stubbornly willing the inertia away, Carina tried to walk towards Armando again.

“Carina…” he stumbled to his knees.

She just caught him in time as he pitched forward, sinking under the weight of him, barely able to lower him into her lap. For a moment she thought she saw black rivulets cracking across his pale skin, but then they were gone.

“Armando,” she whispered, her heart clenching at his paleness. “Armando… please…”

“Niñito,” she heard him mumble. “Niñito, I am too weak… you must…”

“Armando don’t you dare pass out on me now!” She shook him. “Armando!”

But Armando’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Wake up!” Carina stroked his cheeks. “Please, wake up!”

Armando was unconscious.

“My Lady!” cried a familiar voice.

Carina looked up. “George!”

“Over here!” called Bollard. “We found them!”

“My Lady! You’re alive!” Scrum’s relieved grin faded as he saw Armando passed out in her lap.

Instantly he was on his knees next to her. “What happened?”

“I – I don’t know,” she looked up as the rest of the crew crouched around them. “He – he got us all off the ship before it fell – but… I think it weakened him, to take so many of us all at once.”

Carina glanced at Scrum, before looking harder and frowning. “George, what on earth happened to your face?”

“Was that bastard Turner!” Scrum scowled. “Told him not to do it, but he up and smacked me in the sniffer and did it anyway!”

“Did what?”

“Parted the sea!” Pike said angrily. “We was all for waitin’ for El Capitán, but not him!  He went off and jus’ did it, without even a by-your-leave!”  
  
“We been chasin’ him,” Jib looked around, as if hoping to see Turner even now. “We all fell down here, an’ then he took off lookin’ fer the Trident, an’ we tried to catch up, but we lost him!”

Bollard drew his sword. “If I see him, I’m gonna give him what for!”

“’Ere,” shouted a belligerent voice, “Who’re all you lot?”

The crew leapt to their feet, snarling, all weapons out in prickly defense.

Lu and Ralph stood there, along with Mr Onslow and Officer Fields, glaring at the knot of pirates.

“What d’yer mean, who are we?” Bollard growled menacingly. “Who the hell are _you_?”

“Stop!” Carina cried. “Everyone, just calm down! They’re with us!”

In the fraught moment, a small stirring in her lap turned her attention back to Armando.

He was reaching a shaking hand up to his face.

“Armando!” Her eyes filled with relief, and she called to the others. “He’s waking up!”

Armando opened his eyes.

Blinked.

And in a crisp British accent said, “Carina?”

 

* * *

 

Carina’s brain stuttered to a halt.

He sat up.

Patted his face, his hair, his clothes.

Carina felt a terrible sinking in her stomach.  

“Armando?”

“I’m – I’m sorry,” he finally turned towards her. “Armando was too weak – told me I had to take over.”

Carina stared.

“ _Henry_?”

“Ere, whassis?” Jack lurched upright from amongst a pile of broken wood and seaweed. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Armando’s gone!” Carina told him, eyes wide with fear and worry.

Jack peered at Henry. “Really?”

“He’s not gone! He’s still in here –” Henry rubbed his chest, “I can feel him. But he’s – he’s just needing to rest.”

“How – how long will he rest for?” Carina was even more worried. “Is he coming back?”

“I don’t know, but there’s only one thing we can do now,” Henry stood. “We have to find the Trident.”

He held a hand out to Carina, but she was uncertain.

“If we find the Trident, he’ll be freed.” Henry said earnestly. “I promise.”

Reluctantly, Carina allowed Henry to help her up.

“Come on,” Henry turned towards Jack. “It’s your turn now. You told Armando you could feel where the Trident is – so lead on.”

Jack sighed.

“Alright, then,” he muttered. “But for the record, this is a bad idea, so don’t say yer weren’t warned.”

 

* * *

 

As they progressed carefully amongst the slippery bedrock, it wasn’t long before they realised they were being watched.

Through the rippling water on either side, mermaids and mermen were following. When they saw them looking, they gestured wildly, their faces furious as they tried to thrust strange and deadly weapons at them, their enraged attempts whipping sprays of seawater into the air as they tried in vain to reach them.

“Nasty things,” Lu grumbled.

Scrum couldn’t help agreeing.

“Nothing worse,” he said with feeling. “Horrible, what they do to a man.”

Carina couldn’t help being simultaneously fascinated and terrified at their black eyes and fiercely whipping tails.

They stared particularly hard at Jack, apparently communicating soundlessly amongst themselves as they gestured at him.

“They be looking a mite hard at ye, Jack,” Gibbs observed. “Be like they recognise yer!”

“Mayhap they do,” Jack said vaguely.

“Don’t tell me ye done a wrong to them, Jack?” Gibbs grimaced.

Jack stopped, and turned to peer through the waters at the herd of Merfolk.

“Dunno…” Jack regarded them thoughtfully. “Don’t remember any of ‘em…”

After a long minute, Carina saw them lower their weapons, their eyes still hard on Jack.

And then, to her amazement, they did something completely unexpected.

As Jack stood regarding them, the mermen bowed their heads in submission, the mermaids pressed a fist against their chests in some kind of salute at Jack, and then, as one, they began to swim back and forth along the wall, as though encouraging him to continue forward.

Everyone was speechless.

Jack shrugged, and continued on, and the Merfolk swam alongside them as they made their way forward.

“They’re escorting us!” Henry marvelled.

“How – how did he get them to do that?” Mr Onslow stuttered.

“It’s – a long story.” Jack moved ahead. “Which I’ll probably never bother tellin’ yer.”

Carina frowned. “Why not?”

“Cause there it is,” Jack nodded. “Look. Over there.” 

They did.

Jagged stalagmites framed a raised circular stone platform – ancient looking, and yet smooth and clean of sand and seashells, as though built only that very day.

Stone steps circled around it.

At the top, in the very centre, was a faintly gleaming staff.

Carina couldn’t see how it was possible, but the staff was standing unfixed, as though of its own volition – nothing propping or securing it in place.

As they drew even closer, she could see the head of the staff was an asymmetrical cornice of thorn-like lances. And nestled within it, a skull-sized rock of glowing amber.

“It’s real.” Carina was in awe. “It’s actually – real.”

“Unfortunately,” Jack straightened. “Well, I suppose it’s time for the inevitable –”

“That’s far enough, Jack.” Will stood in their way. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Turner!” Jack exclaimed.

“Turner you bugger!” Scrum growled. “I owe you a facer!”

Will shrugged. “And you’re welcome to, after I’ve taken the Trident.”

“Uh – you don’t wanna be doing that mate,” Jack began.

Will’s sword whipped between them, and Jack held his hands up. “I think I’ve had enough of your interfering in my life, Jack.”

“Father,” Henry stepped forward. “Please, listen to me – Jack _has_ to be the one to take the Trident!”

“Henry?” Will started at the voice. “Henry, is that you?”

“Yes!” Henry nodded. “And you can’t take the Trident! Jack has to be the one!”

 “Jack?” Will snarled in disgust. “Why is it always Jack!”

“Father!”

“Not another step!” Will kept his sword between them as he backed away towards the stone platform.

“Don’t!” Henry cried.

“You can’t touch it!” Carina warned. “Only a human can touch it.”

Will paused. “What do you mean, only a human can touch it?”

“It’s part of the protections Poseidon placed on it. Only a human can take the Trident.”

Will deliberated. “We’ll see.”

He turned swiftly and started up the steps.

He hadn’t even reached the top when he started to falter.

He leant heavily forward.

And then he collapsed.

“Father!” Henry raced forward, and helped his father back down the steps, stumbling and weak, away from the Trident.

He lay Will down on the rocky ground, where he slowly began to revive.

“Why – why can’t I?” Will choked in a heavy breath. “I just want – I just want my family back.”

And he started to sob.

“Father, it’s alright,” Henry hugged him tightly against his chest. “Jack will break your curse, I promise!”

“Can’t – can’t you be the one to take it, Henry?” Will said brokenly. “You’re human!”

“Not completely, father,” he gave him a wry smile.

“I can do it.” Carina said.

“No, Carina.” Henry said firmly. “It really does have to be Jack.”

“Why does it have to be Jack?” Carina turned to him. “Why does it have to be you?”

“Well…” Jack made a face.

“Another long story?” Carina arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Jack sighed.

“Well… I’ll go with you,” Carina decided. “You won’t be alone.”

“My Lady,” Scrum ventured, “You sure you don’t want one of us to go with him? Like, just to make sure it’s alright first?”

“That’s very kind of you George,” Carina smiled, “But this time it’s better if you all stay back.”

“It’s just – if anything happened to you… well… El Capitán would have our heads!”

The other crew murmured feelingly.

“I know, but I... I have to go. This is – this is just something I need to see.” She nodded at him. “It’ll be alright, George, I promise.”

“Do be careful, Miss Smyth,” Mr Onslow pressed forward to take hold of her hand. “Please.”

“I will,” she squeezed his hand back briefly. “Thank you.”

“Good luck, my Lady,” Bollard touched his head in a gesture of respect. “We’ll be right here if you need us.”

Jack pouted. “Is no one going to wish _me_ luck?”

“Come on,” Carina rolled her eyes, and pulled him away.

Together, Carina and Jack began to tentatively climb the stone steps.

 

* * *

 

At the top, Carina could see strange jagged runes in a circle around the edges of the platform.

“I wonder what it says...” Carina looked back at the others. “Do you think any of them might know–?”

“Don’t worry about it, love,” Jack said. “Fate is fate.”

The Trident glowed brighter as they stepped towards it.

It seemed almost to rotate on its own axis, as though turning to them. It was exactly as if the Trident really was sentient. Like it was aware of them.

It was not a comforting thought.

Jack took a deep breath.

“Bloody hell I hate this,” he muttered, and then reached out for the Trident.

“Jack Sparrow, if you dare touch that Trident I am going to cut your bloody hands off!”

Elizabeth stood there, several feet from the stone steps – a goddess of fury, her face murderous and her sword glistening from seawater.

 “Elizabeth!” Jack blurted in shock.

“I thought you’d all died!” She shouted at him. “You stole my ship, you _destroyed_ it, and when I saw what was left of it – I thought you and Henry had died!”

Jack attempted to palliate her. “Well, as you can see, love, we’re both here –”

“And now I see,” she said with heavy sarcasm, “You planned this all along! You were just going to leave me behind while _you_ took the Trident!”

“Darling!”

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me, you traitorous bloody pirate!”

Elizabeth strode straight up the stone steps in a fury, sword raised, not even pausing to look at anyone else in her dedicated focus on Jack.

"Um," Carina tried to say, "Perhaps – you could speak about this later?"

"You stay out of it!" Elizabeth snapped. "It's _your_ fault they wrecked my ship!"

“Elizabeth!” Jack barely drew in time against Elizabeth’s swing. “It wasn’t exactly my idea –”

“Oh, really?”  She advanced confidently on him, clashing swords echoing around the stones as she expertly turned him, backing him away down the steps. “I didn’t exactly see you intervening to stop anyone!”

She started to follow him down, keeping one step above him and using it to her advantage as she parried his attacks.

“Well, tell me, your Majesty,” Jack stopped to pivot on a step, placing himself on the same level as her, “When you said all that time ago that you didn’t want me in your life anymore, did that mean only when it suits you, or when you don't need rescuin' –”

In her fury, she swung wide, but this time Jack managed to catch her sword on his, and pulled her into him.

“Now look, Lizzie, I understand, really, I do –” he began.

“What the hell would _you_ understand, Jack Sparrow!”

Elizabeth tried to swing her sword away, but it was firmly caught on Jack’s, and he would not let go.

“Look, I know yer want ter free yer son an’ all, but –”

“That’s right!” Elizabeth tried again in vain to wrench her sword loose from his. “You think I’m just going to let you throw your life away!”

“Eh?” Jack stared.

“You told me what it did to you!” Elizabeth jutted her chin out. “You told me it would destroy whoever touched it!”

“Um –”

She leant in, right over their crossed blades.

“So if you think for one stupid minute that I’m going to let you destroy yourself for me – that I’m just going to stand by and lose you – _again_ – I won’t – because – because I...”

Jack’s face melted in a soft expression of wonder. “Oh…”

Elizabeth scowled.

A slow grin spread over Jack’s face. “So... you really do love me –”

“Oh, shut up!”

Exasperated, Elizabeth dropped her sword hand and with her other grabbed the back of Jack’s head, and pressed her mouth to his in a passionate kiss.

Henry’s jaw dropped.

Carina stared.

Will looked away in resigned despair.

“My, my, how romantic," a chilling voice cut through.

Jack and Elizabeth broke apart on the steps.

Scarfield was there, soaking wet from the sea, black wounds showing through his ragged uniform – yet even more menacing than ever.

And surrounding the crew and survivors of the Essex, were all his creatures, a little the worse for wear, and showing some wounds they could only have received from the Merfolk, but still slavering and grinning evilly.

Carina stepped back towards the Trident, as Scarfield sneered at her.

"And I half expected it would be Miss Smyth granting favours, since she has such a taste for pirates."

At once Elizabeth raised her sword.

“Oh no, too late for that,” Scarfield said smoothly. “If either of you move, even an inch, I will start to kill them all, indiscriminately.”

Jack and Elizabeth could only watch as Will and Henry were forced to their knees, a sword drawn against each of them by their captors.

“And now, Miss Smyth.”

Scarfield strode as close as he could to the stone platform as he addressed her.

 “You’re going to give me that Trident.” Scarfield said. “You’re going to give it to me, and then you’re going to kneel, and place your hand under my feet, and beg me for mercy.” His eyes were black. “Or people will die.”

The Trident thrummed on the stones as Scarfield spoke, with a force and power that seemed to pluck at Carina’s bones and shiver up her spine.

 “I’ll let you live, Carina Smyth. I’ll even let you stay human – just bring the Trident to me.”

The Trident’s edges seemed to blur and shimmer in the air.

“Let them go first.” Carina turned her gaze from the Trident back towards Scarfield. “They’re innocent.”

“Innocent? Even your precious El Capitán Diablo? What a pathetic appeal.” Scarfield sneered. “There is no one innocent, Miss Smyth, not even you.”

“I will not touch it until you release him.”

“Bring me the Trident and I shall.”

“No.” Carina stood firm. “Release him first. Or you shall never get it.”

“Oh Miss Smyth,” Scarfield shook his head. “What foolishness has made you think you have any power to bargain with _me_? You’re nothing. And you’ll never amount to anything. You’ll live out the rest of your days chained to my bed, where you belong. But by all means, play out your charade, pretend you’re intelligent, pretend even that you’re an astronomer – but know that for the rest of your life, the only thing you’ll be gazing up at is the roof above my bed.”

He turned and nodded to his men.

The one guarding Henry took a step forward, and drew his sword.

“Now hand me the Trident, or your precious El Capitán loses his head.”

“Don’t do it Carina!” Henry cried desperately.

“Do you really think the Trident will work for you?” Carina hedged. “Do you really think the weapon of a god as great as Poseidon will actually work for a thing like you?”

“Do you really think your weak words will actually change my mind, Miss Smyth? I have no desire for your opinion. Bring me the Trident.”

“You really want me to bring the Trident?” Carina steeled herself. “Very well, then.”

She reached for the Trident.

“No!” Henry shouted, leaping to his feet. “Carina, stop!” 

Henry shoved his captors aside, scrambling up the stone steps in a mad effort to stop her.

He never made it more than three steps.

A sword erupted through Henry’s side, dark blood spurting in a thick gash on the sand from the force of it.

Carina froze.

Scarfield withdrew the sword with a vicious shove, and Henry stumbled forward, up the stone steps.

Elizabeth cried out in shock.

Will was on his feet, withdrawing his sword with a fierce shout. In a rage he beheaded the nearest creature, before Scarfield even had a chance to turn.

The crew of the Gull followed Will’s lead, rushing on the creatures, hacking at them with their swords, overwhelmed by their own shock and rage.

Henry collapsed to his knees on the platform, and looked at Carina in confusion, as though puzzled by what had just happened.

Then he looked at the Trident, standing upright on the stones.

His eyes glowed.

“Don’t, Armando … please… you don’t know if you’ll survive…” Henry whispered, even as Armando somehow found the strength to stand.

“But it gives you a chance, Niñito,” Armando gasped as he stumbled towards it.

“Armando,” Carina cried, unable to believe what he was doing. “ _Armando_!”

She reached forward, a fraction of a second too slow, trying to get to the Trident before him.

His eyes flared a bright orange for the last time, as he whispered in Spanish, “Te quiero, Mi Ángel.”

And then he closed his fingers around the Trident.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATION
> 
> Mira – Look
> 
> Al tiempo – At the same time
> 
> Ven aquí – Come here
> 
> Te quiero - I love you


	30. Calypso's Successor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My profound apologies if there are any grammatical or other errors in this chapter - I am operating on little sleep! But please, I hope you enjoy the second last chapter of El Infierno.

Armando Salazar and Henry Turner divided at once – face to face for the first time since the Devil's Triangle – but their fists remained locked on the Trident.

The protections that had kept the Trident safe for centuries fell, sending an invisible shockwave out across the entire seafloor.

Time expanded.

The world stopped.

The Trident itself hummed like a lover stretching rapturously awake.

For Armando and Henry, the world was now utterly still.

It was only them – and the Trident.

 _Who are you,_ a metallic voice scraped through their minds _, that you lay hold of me?_ _You are not the One from before. You are not the One I have been awaiting._

The body of the Trident began to thrum in their hands.

 

* * *

 

In the midst of his battle with several pirates, Scarfield felt the current of power rip through him, and knew immediately something was wrong.

He stopped and stood, motionless.

"No..." he uttered, and turned towards the stone platform.

Feeling the same powerful current, and disconcerted by Scarfield's reaction, the other pirates also turned to see what had arrested his attention.

The one Scarfield had known as El Capitán Diablo had split apart - into two different men.

Two men who now had hold of the Trident between them.

"No!" screamed Scarfield. "No! No! _No_!"

All his plans had been thwarted.

Again.

And by the same Spanish bastard.

He didn't understand how there were two men where before there had only been one, but his wrath was too great by now to care. Whoever the second man was, Scarfield would see him die as well.

Sensing their Master's ire, all his creatures renewed their fighting with greater fervour.

Scarfield didn't care anymore how many of his creatures he lost now. All his revenge centred on Carina and her bastard pirate lover - and the Trident that should be his. As the pirates renewed their battle around him, Scarfield stalked towards the now unprotected stone platform.

 

* * *

 

"Jack!" Elizabeth saw Scarfield coming and was ready. "Don't let him get to Henry!"

"Aye, Lizzie." Jack looked grim.

"Out of my way or die!" Scarfield threatened as he strode up the steps through the melee.

"Come on," Elizabeth raised her sword. "Let's show this bastard what we can do!"

Behind Elizabeth, Carina set herself in front of where Henry and Armando remained locked on the Trident. She was determined that even if Scarfield made it past Jack and the Pirate King, he'd still have a fight on his hands with her.

 

* * *

 

 _Where is the One from before?_ The Trident's voice made both Armando and Henry wince in pain. _He rejected me before I could even give him my Gift, and so I have waited…_

The thrum of the Trident strengthened, its voice now setting their teeth on edge with its piercing pitch.

_Who are you, one human and yet one not, that you can touch me in spite of my protections?_

It shook in their fists.

 _Did you think I was just a thing, an object you could command? That you would rule me? I am no toy, no magic andrápodo_ _that gives you whatever you want!_

Oscillating vibrations shot up their arms, pushing through the very substance of their beings, locking Henry's muscles, and imprisoning Armando in place.

_How have you done it?_

"Forgive us," Henry gasped in pain. "Please! Release us!"

Both Henry and Armando felt its rage.

_Release you? But my time has come! It is here, now! Calypso promised me a new Lover; one unrivalled in knowledge of my Sea, one who would receive my Gift…_

The rage turned to bitter grief.

_She promised me a Companion, a Friend, a Lover… that it would be for me as in the days of Poseidon's youth, before he corrupted himself with lust and greed…_

The pain of the Trident's thrumming was now so fast and so hard it felt like they were going to be shaken to pieces.

 _Which one of you is Mine?_ It demanded. _Which one of you do I give my Gift to?_

"Out of my way or die!" Came a cruel voice, but the pain was too great for them to even distinguish what was happening around them anymore.

The Trident's anguish and confusion and rage was consuming them.

Armando could only stare in horror as he saw Henry's skin burning, a blistering red branching up his arm, making him scream; his own ghostly form beginning to disintegrate, smooth swirls of ash curling up into the air, drifting down onto the wet stones.

It was going to kill them.

"Me." Henry gasped suddenly. "I – I'll do it!"

 _You would give yourself to me?_ The Trident demanded.

"Yes!"

"Niñito!"

_You would love me?_

"I will!"

"Niñito!" Armando tried to say, "Don't!"

"No, Armando!" Henry clenched his teeth in pain, "You and Carina – you need to live –"

_You would accept my Gift?_

"Yes!"

"Don't do this!" Armando cried. "Not for me –"

But it was too late.

The Trident keened triumphantly.

And it glowed, brighter and brighter, channels of light cracking jagged patterns up its staff. The deepset amber split like eggshell, and for one moment Armando locked eyes with Henry, and saw him – really saw him – saw the pain and the sorrow and the _compassion_ , and felt his own heart would split in despair.

And then Armando was sent flying backwards across the stone platform as the Trident burst, its fragments piercing Henry deeply as he screamed once more in pain, and a thick fog of blinding white light enveloped them all – and then Armando's mind went blank.

 

* * *

 

Jack was sure he had died.

Though now, he seemed to be standing again, in a thick white fog: but he was not completely alone.

"Oh. ’Ullo. Wondered where you'd got to," Jack said.

I NEVER LEFT.

"Ah." Jack looked distractedly about. "So, is this it? Am I dead?"

Death almost seemed to sigh.

NO.

"That's a bit unusual, isn't it? I feel… a bit dead."

YOU ARE, AS YOU SAY, A 'BIT' DEAD. BUT IT WON'T LAST MUCH LONGER NOW.

"Why aren't I completely dead, then?" Jack scratched his nose. "Doesn't seem right, to be only a _bit_ dead."

YOU HAVE BEEN A 'BIT' DEAD FOR A VERY LONG TIME, CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW. HOW ELSE WERE YOU ABLE TO SEE ME?

"Oh… really?"

FOR NOW, YOU ARE IN A MOMENT OF TEMPORARY STASIS, WHILE THE TRIDENT RECONSTRUCTS ITS NEW HOME.

"I'm unconscious?"

MORE ACCURATELY, YOU ARE UNDERGOING A BIOLOGICAL PROCESS OF REVIVING AND RE-INTEGRATING THE LIVING PARTS OF YOURSELF THAT YOU LOST – PARTS OF YOU THE TRIDENT HAD TAKEN, ALL THOSE YEARS AGO.

Jack absorbed all this in silence.

Out of the white fog, a third figure emerged.

Death turned.

GREETINGS, CALYPSO.

 _Ah, Death,_ Calypso smiled. _It been a pretty chase, but I be ready now._

"Calypso?" Jack squinted at the sea goddess.

 _Jack_ , Calypso winked. _De witty Jack Sparrow come back to de beginning._

Jack raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Well, not like I had much of a choice, did I?"

 _All 'ave a choice, Jack. An' you chose, at de end, to come back to de Trident._ She slid in front of him, placed her hands on his chest. _You made de right choice._

"Yeah." Jack looked confused. "But – wasn't I supposed to be the one –"

 _Was never goin' be you, Jack,_ she shook her head and smiled. _Was always goin' be de Pirate King's boy._

"But why him?"

 _He is strong,_ Calypso said appreciatively, _I see dat straight away. You seen it too. He's strong enough to fight for 'is own body, fight a powerful wicked ghost, an' change dat ghost with 'is compassion, till all dat ghost used to be is nearly no more. An' now dat ghost even spare your life, Jack. Henry will be a good Ruler, an' will protec' all dat he should. Dis why I make every ting happen._

Jack shook his head. "Elizabeth ain't gonna like it."

 _Den go. Can't keep de Pirate King waitin'._ She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. _You an' she 'ave a destiny – always, you belong wit' eachother, Jack Sparrow._

"Wait," Jack frowned, "What about you?"

_My time 'as come._

She glided away towards where Death stood.

"You mean…" Jack's eyes widened. "All this time Death's been after _you_?"

 _Mostly,_ Calypso tipped her head, smiling ruefully.

Jack stared at Death. "I thought… I thought when you said 'the end'… that it'd be like… the end of the whole world!"

IT _HAS_ BEEN AN UNUSUAL FEW DAYS.

"But you just meant –" Jack glanced apologetically at Calypso, "Um, _her_ end?"

Calypso shrugged a little. _It is de end to my world._

THERE WILL BE MANY 'ENDS' TODAY, BUT THE WORLD'S IS NOT ONE OF THEM.

He held up Calypso's Life-Timer.

The top half was almost completely empty – save for a single grain of black sand.

Jack peered at the slowly circling grain, the remaining seconds of life, and saw that it was being held back from passing through.

He looked wonderingly up at Death. "Y'know, the more I think about it, the more I reckon… yer a lot different than I expected, uh, you to be."

OH? IN WHAT WAY?

Jack thought about it. "You're… not cruel."

CONTRARY TO POPULAR OPINION, I _CAN_ BE CONSIDERATE. ESPECIALLY IF THE CIRCUMSTANCES CALL FOR IT.

"Circumstances? You mean –?"

THERE IS A SPECIAL PROVIDENCE FOR THE FALL OF A GODDESS.

Calypso faced Jack one last time.

 _When 'e wakes, 'im not remember who he is,_ she said seriously. _It will be dangerous for you, when 'e first wakes. But when 'im remember, den you must tell 'im what I said. De seas need a strong ruler, a good ruler, or dey will swallow de land up. You tell 'im dat.  
_

"Now, hang on a minute –"

_Goodbye, Jack._

"Wait –"

But it was Time.

It was the last Jack ever saw of Calypso: closing her eyes in quiet gratitude, with a small smile on her lips, as Death swung his scythe.

 

* * *

 

As the blinding white faded, the humans were the first to recover from the strange explosion that had knocked them all off their feet.

"Henry…" The sounds of a woman sobbing echoed between the stalagmites. "Oh no, Henry…"

Confused, the pirates pulled their hats from their head and lowered their eyes in respectful sorrow, as Elizabeth held Henry's lifeless body to herself.

Will's arms were tightly wrapped about them both, a look of agony on his face.

Nearby, Jack was slowly stirring back to consciousness from where he'd fainted.

 

* * *

 

The force of the blinding light had sent Scarfield slipping over, hitting his head on the sharp stones on the ground. Dazedly, he eventually came back to something resembling consciousness.

All fighting had ceased.

As Scarfield's vision cleared, he saw that all his creatures had stilled, their heads turned in the direction of the stone platform.

The Trident was gone.

Destroyed.

El Capitán Diablo had done it.

And now he was in the pirate woman's arms, while she sobbed heartbreakingly over him, calling him 'Henry' and clutching him to her chest.

But Scarfield could sense the bastard was not dead.

Something Scarfield was going to rectify in short order.

 _Kill them all_ , Scarfield hissed at his creatures, _And tear that Capitán apart! Leave Miss Smyth_ _to me._

The remainder of the creatures grouped together before splitting evenly into two packs, one pack scuttling once more up towards the stone platform, and the other turning towards the scattered survivors.

Scarfield smiled cruelly as his creatures began to attack, and turned his eyes towards where he could see Carina, climbing down over the other side of the platform.

Probably trying to run away, he sneered to himself. Well, this time he would not fail to make her suffer.

He circled stealthily around, intent on her and her alone.

 

* * *

 

Carina was barely even aware of how she got to him, slipping and hurrying to where Armando's body had tumbled over the edge of the platform onto the wet sand below.

Hesitantly, Carina knelt and smoothed the floating hair back from the face.

It was the first time she'd ever looked upon his face – his _real_ face.

Cracked grey skin smoothed moment by moment into warm living flesh, surreal hair settled down into dark locks.

He looked so handsome – so distinguished – his features so much like those of a Spanish nobleman, it was daunting for her to realise that this was him. This was the real Armando.

Dimly, Carina was aware of some noise on the platform behind her – heartbroken sobbing, and then the sound of clashing swords and cursing – but as selfish as it was, she just could not bring herself to spare attention to anything except the man in front of her.

He opened his eyes.

No longer lit as though a fire burned in them – and yet they were still as breathtaking as ever. Warm. _Human_.

"Armando?" She whispered timidly.

He looked so different, more than she could ever have imagined… but when he spoke… his voice – _that_ was the same.

"Mi Ángel," he coughed. "¿Está bien?

She stared at the living, breathing man lying on the ground before her.

"Carina, what is the matter?" he asked, a nervous hand reaching up to her. "Why do you look at me like this?"

The pure expression of his eyes, together with the odd-but-familiar way the corners of his mouth lifted made her heart ache…

"I had no idea!" She blurted, "I never knew you'd look… like this."

He blinked uncertainly at her words. "What – what do you mean?"

 

* * *

 

 Jack had never felt stranger in his life. And that in itself was quite a feat, if he'd had the time to stop and consider it.

"Jack!" Will shouted at the groggily standing pirate. "For fuck's sake, help us!"

The sound of clashing swords hurt Jack's ears, and he groaned.

"Jack, hurry up!" Elizabeth screamed.

Jack took in the scene before him.

The crew of the Gull, along with the survivors of the Essex, were attempting to find refuge from Scarfield's crazed creatures, retreating to hide in amongst the stalagmites surrounding the stone platform.

Several of the creatures were trying to get past Will and Elizabeth to attack Henry.

Henry himself was lying, lifeless… and the Trident was gone.

Jack had a bad feeling.

And he was old enough by now not to ignore bad feelings.

He leapt into action.

"We gotta leave!" Jack rushed to Elizabeth's side. "Right now!"

"What?" Will yelled over the sound of the hissing creatures as they fought them off. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"We gotta leave Henry and get out of here!"

Elizabeth turned to him, and her look cut Jack to the heart, but there was no time.

"He'll be fine, trust me!"

"I'm not leaving him!" Elizabeth choked hoarsely.

"If we don't leave now, there's a good chance we are all going to die!"

Will sent a frenzied creature to tumble back down the steps with a vicious kick and turned to him. "Jack, what are you saying?"

"When yer son wakes up, he's not gonna be himself!"

Elizabeth stared at Jack for a moment. "He's - he's not dead?"

"He'll be fine, but the first few minutes after he wakes – it's just gonna be a little time before he remembers who he is! _Trust me_!"

"Jack! Over here!" Gibbs was gesturing wildly to them, even as he and the others desperately tried to squeeze in amongst a jagged cluster of pillar-like stalagmites, fending off snarling attackers as they did.

"Come on!" Jack started to drag Elizabeth and Will away.

And in that moment, lying on the wet stones, Henry drew in a deep shuddering breath.

 

* * *

 

As Scarfield circled around towards Carina, he saw her kneeling down next to a man.

It was the second man, the one that had split from El Capitán when he took the Trident.

She seemed to be stroking his face.

Scarfield quietly sheathed his sword.

He was not going to kill either of them quickly.

He was in the mood to see some suffering.

He continued to creep stealthily up behind her, careful to stay out of her peripheral vision, until he was close enough to hear her say, "I never knew you'd look… like this."

He sneered at the sickening intimacy between them, and prepared to attack.

 

* * *

 

He drew in a deep shuddering breath.

Power coursed through him.

He was so… _strong_. Had he always been so strong?

He did not know.

He could not remember.

He could not remember _anything_.

Who was he?

 _My love…_ came a beautiful whisper. _You are Mine…_

He rose up.

The tattered remains of his shirt, torn to pieces from where the fragments of the Trident had plunged deep into him, fell to the ground.

_Let my Gift clothe you..._

A trio of brassy horn-like spikes erupted up out of one shoulder, and he turned his head to observe the way they curved out. It was curious to him that he felt no pain. He could remember pain – but that had been before...

Jagged runes glowed gold on the spikes, spiralling down from the sharp tips to wind their way across his chest to the opposite hip.

The runes encircled the place where his side had been mortally pierced; a faint glowing symbol swirled over the healed wound.

The continued study of his personal transformation, however, was interrupted by a threatening hiss.

Strange creatures surrounded him.

He tilted his chin up, shrewdly measuring the danger.

What were these things?

Unnatural, rotting carcasses, that should've been dead - and yet were alive by some unnatural evil.

 _Destroy them_ , the same voice suggested. _Destroy them with my Gift._

Luxuriant power moved within him. He stretched, and the sea walls shuddered and slipped closer.

_Kill them all._

From the sea walls he commanded a giant blade of water, and with a casual wave of his hand, sliced it through the air, cutting the things up into small pieces.

He laughed in delight at the way their ropey organs fell, the way their rotted blood showered down in thick clots.

 _So pretty..._ the voice purred in approval.

 

* * *

 

Several screeches from the platform drew their attention away, and Scarfield saw his opportunity.

He struck, first picking Carina up and tossing her to the side before facing the man.

The man leapt up immediately, but for some reason seemed unsteady on his feet, almost as though he was unused to his own body.

Scarfield's first punch came almost too fast to see, catching the man on the jaw even as he tried to step back out of his reach. He followed it in the next split second with a punch to the stomach, which the man was just able to deflect with a strong swipe of his arm.

The man then tried to retaliate, but Scarfield was ready for him. Grabbing his arm, Scarfield used the man's momentum to fling him forward.

"Get away from him!" Carina hit Scarfield in the back.

Turning, Scarfield saw she'd hit him with a small stone, clutched in her fist.

He laughed at her.

"Dear Miss Smyth, I understand your eagerness, but please _do_ wait your turn!"

He pushed her hard, making her sprawl down in the sand.

 

* * *

 

Huddled in amongst the tall rough stones, they all shuddered at the sounds of incessant shrieking and hissing.

"Like a bloody banshee," Ralph muttered, hands clapped over his ears.

"El Capitán is really pissed." Bollard groaned.

"How many times do I got to tell ye?" Gibbs rolled his eyes. "It's not El Capitán anymore!"

Bollard scrunched his nose. "What you said don't make no sense."

Gibbs sighed and began to explain again. "It's the boy what the Devil possessed now become Poseidon, perfectly sensible to me!"

"Then what 'appened to El Capitán?"

Elizabeth turned to Jack to avoid overhearing more of their stupid arguing.

"Jack, please," she said beseechingly, "Let me out. I could just try talking to him –"

"That ain't Henry anymore," Jack refused to budge. "He won't know you, trust me."

"Let me try, Jack!" Elizabeth begged. "Just let me go to him!"

Will risked a glimpse from behind a stalagmite and immediately turned back, looking sick.

"What is it? What did you see?"

"Jack's right," he said faintly. "He's not Henry anymore."

Elizabeth couldn't believe them.

She leant around Will, and saw Henry.

She took in the spikes, the gold runes, the manic joy on his face as he killed. His hair was streaked a bright amber; just like the glowing rock that had been in the Trident. He was holding a writhing creature in fists of tightly spinning seawater, and slowly, slowly, tearing it in half from groin to chest. It let out an inhuman shriek as its insides splattered on the ground.

Elizabeth fell back against Jack's chest.

"Fuck." She said.

"It'll be alright," Jack said quietly. "He'll remember." Another shriek ended abruptly. "Eventually."

"When?" Will demanded. "How long will it take?"

Jack didn't answer.

"If I get outta this alive," Scrum raised his eyes to the blue sky high above them, "I ain't never gonna be a pirate again. I'm gonna settle down. Own a tavern or something."

"I'm gonna be a priest, like my brother." Jib agreed. "Spend my days helpin' people. Orphans an' widows an' such."

"I'm gonna steal the finest rum in the world and drink it till I die." Bollard said fervently.

The others glared at him.

"Well, at least I'm been honest!"

 

* * *

 

As the man twisted with a groan onto his back, Scarfield swiftly went to stand over him.

Grabbing the front of the faded uniform he wore in his fist, Scarfield shook the man until the medals on his uniform clinked.

"What _are_ these?" Scarfield sneered. "Who do you think you are?"

The man grabbed Scarfield's fist in both his hands and lifted his head to sneer right back.

"I am El Matador Del Mar, the greatest Capitán of my time, and you cabrón, are _nothing_!"

And then he punched Scarfield hard under the ribs with a force that sent him back several paces.

Scarfield was suddenly, inexplicably afraid.

The man rose, looking every inch the famed Spanish Butcher.

Scarfield saw it. A likeness between the man in front of him and the portraits he'd had occasion to observe from time to time, at least in the diplomatic circles he'd frequented in Europe. The great El Matador Del Mar, whom every officer worth his salt secretly aspired to be: unparalleled in his superior sense of battle strategy, naval warfare, and success in hunting pirates.

But the man was supposed to be dead. A myth. A disproportionately revered idol.

And yet Scarfield was not about to risk engaging again.

Even if he could not quite believe that the man was - who he said he was.

He drew his sword in one hand and grabbed Carina by the arm with the other, and forced her up the stone platform.

 

* * *

 

They were almost all gone.

He turned in a circle.

No, not all gone.

Across from him were… a Thing, a Woman and a Man.

One more of those pitiful dead things was climbing onto the platform, forcing the familiar-looking Woman in front of him, a sword at her throat.

They were being followed by the Man, whose face was badly bruised, stepping up onto the platform after them.

Who were they?

Why did he feel like he had seen them before?

The Thing's eyes flicked between him and the Man, as he backed away across the stones.

He was sure the Thing holding the Woman hostage had a name... but he could not remember it.

"El Capitán Diablo," the Thing addressed him. "You may have got the Trident, but I have Miss Smyth!"

Curious title the Thing gave him, he thought; and yet he did not feel it was correct. It was not _his_ title, though the Thing seemed to think it was.

The whisper inside him chuckled.

 _You have a better title, my Love_ , it told him.

The Man growled something in another language, causing the thing to glance back at the Man nervously.

There was something about the Man that was –

_Familiar._

But familiar in a way that made him the feel that the Man had once ... belonged.

And his eyes… eyes that had once flamed orange at him in the dank depths of a ship…

The Man did not stop, following the Thing as it tried to back further away.

"One more step and I will end her, here and now!" The Thing hissed, its face beginning to transform into a hideous mask.

"I will not let you," said the Man. "¡Te mataré primero!"

Something stirred in him as he watched the Man's stubbornness.

He knew this Man, he was sure of it.

 _He was with you_ , came a whisper in his mind. _Before you were Mine._

But it seemed like an age ago.

The Man had no weapons with which to fight the creature, but still he kept on.

He could see that, if he had to, the Man was going to sacrifice himself. For the Woman. For her.

A warmth blossomed inside.

An understanding.

 _You care for them,_ the whisper caressed. _You sacrificed for him to be with her._

A flood of images engulfed him.

"I remember now," and Henry did.

He remembered everything.

 _My beautiful Lover_ , the whisper smoothed over him like honey, _Go. Do what you want. My Gift is yours._

With a flick of his wrist Henry sent a high-powered lance of seawater directly at Scarfield's back.

Carina fell forward and scrambled away towards Armando, as Scarfield shrieked and flapped uselessly; but Henry lifted him, impaled on the churning sea-spear, high above the stones.

"Niñito!" Armando's mouth dropped open.

"El Capitán Diablo," he winked back.

With a power rippling around him in a wreath of amber light, Henry sent more bursts of water into Scarfield's flailing limbs, until he could no longer move, pinned as he was in mid-air by several spears.

"Shall I?" Henry asked.

"No, Niñito," Armando growled, "Let me – "

"No," Carina cut in. "Let _me_."

She held out her hand.

Henry remembered Armando's dagger, and while Scarfield continued to shriek and struggle, unsheathed it from his waist, placing it in her open palm.

As Carina walked calmly towards Scarfield, Henry forced him to his knees.

"Do you think you can kill me? I am unkillable!" he screamed. "You can try, you little whore! But I will always come back and find you, and I promise you, I will make you _beg_ –"

"I did not ask you a question, therefore I did not give you permission to _speak_."

Carina grabbed his hair in one fist, yanking back until the throat was exposed.

"A thing like you is _out of place_ here."

She began to hack across his throat, occasionally sawing the blade back and forth to get through the toughened larynx, ignoring the gargled shrieks and hisses. Blood flecked her cheek, and Armando stared in fascination. He had an impulse to wipe the black drops from her cheek with his thumb, but he would not dare interrupt such masterful work.

"You will not speak ever again," Carina said when she finished.

She glanced once at Armando and tensed, before hastily looking away.

"Impressive," Henry tilted his head, studying the wide open gash.

"All yours now," she said carelessly, wiping the dagger against the rags of Scarfield's uniform before handing it back to Armando.

A little confused by Carina's apparent coolness, Armando took the dagger, staring after her as she started to walk away.

"Ah," Henry grinned. "L'amour fou une fois dans la vie, qui n'en rêve pas?"

"Shut up," Armando growled.

Henry grinned again, and began to pull Scarfield's body to pieces with an enthusiasm that would normally have been pleasing to Armando – but Armando barely stayed to watch, continuing to gaze after Carina, confounded and lost when she did not even spare him a look back.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Oh no, what's going on? Does Carina think Armando is appalled by her bloodthirstiness? Does Armando think Carina no longer likes him because of how he looks? Will these two finally just get a room? Stay tuned for the very last chapter, coming soon...
> 
> SPANISH/GREEK/FRENCH TRANSLATION:
> 
> ¿Está bien? - Are you alright?
> 
> Andrápodo - Slave
> 
> ¡Te mataré primero! - I'll kill you first!
> 
> L'amour fou une fois dans la vie, qui n'en rêve pas - Who doesn't dream at least once in their lives of crazy love?
> 
> (I just like to headcanon that, as the god of a sea that encapsulates so many different lands, Henry can naturally now speak many languages...)
> 
> ***************  
> CREDITS: I'd like to credit the (dozens) of movies/shows I watched clips from throughout the entirety of writing this story, for inspiration and better understanding of a fight scene, and I'll be honest, general enjoyment: including The Duellists (1978), Game of Thrones (2011), Pirates of the Caribbean: the Curse of the Black Pearl (2003), Rome (2005-2007), Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (2000), The Hunted (2003) and Kill Bill: Vol 1 (2003).


	31. The Black Pearl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the final chapter...
> 
> A special thanks to every single one of you who have encouraged me with your comments and kudos. I really, really appreciate you all. You encouraged me to keep writing, even when I was at times overwhelmed by the story, or hitting a wall and unsure how to continue. And can you believe I have been writing this for seven months? Hard to get my head around, that I have spent that many months on it - but I love Capitán Salazar, so to me it has been more than worthwhile, and the time really has flown now that we are here, at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> I think I have a secondary crush developing now on my Henry.  
> Also, Henry is incorrigible.

It took quite a lot of cajoling from Carina – and repeated reassurances from both Armando and Henry – before the others left the safety of their hiding place among the stalagmites.

As Jack, Elizabeth and the rest hesitantly ventured out, eying Henry's new form with trepidation, it soon became painfully clear to Armando that Carina was avoiding him.

Standing next to Henry by the stone platform, Armando watched as Carina walked away towards the others. He watched as she greeted Scrum warmly, embraced Mr Onslow, and even politely shook hands with Officer Fields – but him, she wouldn’t even look at.

And he thought he knew why.

He was nothing like she’d been expecting.

“Henry!” Elizabeth cried loudly, interrupting Armando’s preoccupation with Carina.

Both Henry and Armando turned to see Elizabeth and Will staring open-mouthed at their son.

Elizabeth was pale as she looked him over. “I thought – I thought –”

And then she just stepped in and hugged him fiercely, not caring that it hurt as she flung her arms across his hard brass spikes.

“It’s alright,” Henry grinned fondly as he squeezed her back. “I’m fine now, I promise!”

Will surprised Armando by turning to him, and saying quietly, “You were right.”

“¿Perdón?”

“You were right.” Will looked down. “I’m sorry I was never the father Henry deserved. I should’ve fought more to be there for him.”

Armando shook his head, surprising himself by a small surge of compassion for Will Turner.  

“No, Señor, it is I who must apologise. I should not have said those things to you.”

“But it was the truth.”

Henry turned from his mother, overhearing his father’s last words.

“Father –” he began to say, but Will cut him off.

“I’m so sorry, Henry!” Will said thickly. “I’m – I’m so sorry!”

Will suddenly couldn’t look at any of them. Not at Elizabeth; not at Jack, who stood a few steps behind her; and certainly not at his son.

“I’ve done so much wrong, caused so much loss, and I don’t know if you should forgive me –”

Will started to step back, but Henry was having none of it.

“Father,” he placed a firm hand on Will, preventing him from leaving, and pulled him into a hug. “You haven’t lost _me_.”

Henry held his father for a long time, just letting him sob.

 

* * *

 

After everyone had been found and accounted for, Henry had turned to Jack, and surprised him by tapping on Jack’s breast pocket.

“Wanna have a look at her?” Henry had asked, smiling.

“What?” Jack had blinked. “You mean – the Pearl?”

“I can _hear_ her,” Henry nodded. “She wants her freedom.”

“You – you can do that?”

“It’s already been done,” Henry had said. “All curses broken, remember? She just needs to feel the sea now.”

It took but a moment for Jack to pull the glass-bottle out of his pocket, see the ruptured cracks in her prison, and then place it carefully on the seafloor.

Henry had knelt and tapped the glass bottle once more, and it had crumbled to dust around the miniature ship.

Released at long last, the ship had grown to its full size with unearthly speed.

They’d all had to scramble on very quickly, as the Black Pearl was carried by a wave of Henry’s making up to the very top of the sea walls.

Once the ship had settled safely on the waves above, the sea itself had finally, gratefully, been allowed to close in again.

 

* * *

 

Long through the night, and into the fresh pale dawn, the Black Pearl cut effortlessly through the rolling ocean, back towards the Caribbean.

Henry provided the strong current that sped their way; they barely even needed the warm breeze that thrummed through the Pearl’s rigging.

In spite of extreme weariness, everyone aboard was filled with a renewed sense of hope as they spied the Caribbean islands on the horizon.

Initially, there had been much discussion about where they should go.

St Martin was completely out of the question; though Mr Onslow and Officer Fields were of the opinion that, sooner or later, they should ensure all the Creatures were well and truly gone from that island.

Will said he was looking forward to returning to his boyhood home of Port Royal, and told Henry he’d hoped to start making swords again – something that greatly interested Henry, and led to them having a rather long conversation about different swordfighting techniques, and a possible sword design Will already had in mind for Henry.

Scrum said he'd heard St Croix was now open to new settlers, and that there was still a lot of untenanted land there since the French had abandoned it.

Bollard was enthusiastic. "St Croix rum is the best!"

Jib and Pike both nodded in solidarity. "Definitely the best."

"Mother's love!" Gibbs cried. "The best rum is at Tortuga!"

"Ah, rum is rum," Marty snorted.

"Only someone who's never had a good one would say that," Ralph had disagreed. "And the best rum is the stuff you make yerself! That's what you should do. Make it yerself!"

They fell into arguing over rum, which stalled all discussion for some minutes.

"Oh, stop!" Carina wearily interrupted when Scrum's face started to squinch up. "You're only going to settle it if you go to St Croix and try the rum for yourselves!"

Elizabeth and Jack quietly opted at that point to stay aboard the Pearl.

But the rest finally agreed that they _would_ disembark at St Croix, for some much needed food and rest (and to decide for once and for all, if St Croix rum really was better).

From the discussions however, one notable absence was conspicuous: Armando.

When Carina looked for him in the growing light of dawn, she saw him standing in silence some distance away, his back to them;  but her own insecurities made her unwilling to breach the privacy of his self-imposed isolation.

 

* * *

 

In the rays of the morning sun, the sea shone brighter than liquid light.

At the bow of the Pearl, Carina closed her eyes, allowing herself to indulge the sun’s swelling warmth on her face.

For one peaceful minute, she determined to set aside the tumult of conflicting feelings that had lodged in her heart ever since they’d left the seafloor. She let her mind drift in the sensation of simply being alive.

 “… let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain…” sung a lilting voice close by, “For we may or might never… all meet here again...”

Carina opened her eyes to see Henry nonchalantly floating past the railing on the crest of a wave.

Seeing her look, he winked.

“Nice to be alive, isn’t it?”

Carina smiled.

“Thanks to _you_ ,” she told him.

“Well, I did have help,” Henry grinned, and stretched out to lie comfortably on the wave.

“How _are_ you doing that?”

“Magic,” Henry laughed, spreading his hands in the air like a cheap street performer.

“No, but really,” Carina couldn’t help smiling, “How is it being done?”

“Well, have a look and see,” Henry gestured languidly.

Carina leant over the railing.

Henry’s wave seemed to simply hang in mid-air, neither rolling forward nor back; just motionlessly suspended, seemingly at his leisure.

“That is really quite amazing.”

Henry stood up on his wave, the golden runes glowing and moving over his skin as he did.

Carina watched, fascinated, as the runes seemed to change even as she mentally tried to pin the individual symbols.

“Wanna touch?” Henry winked, and slid his hand down seductively over his chest. “I might even let you touch one of my horns, if you want.”

He flexed his shoulders, and the brassy spikes rippled with his muscles.

Carina raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, well, thank you for the offer, but frankly –” she glanced down at the wave, “I’m just more interested in the science behind your powers.”

“M-may I?” Blurted a voice behind them.

Officer Fields was standing awkwardly some feet away, staring at Henry with his mouth slightly parted.

“I beg your pardon,” Fields reddened, “I had no wish to intrude, it’s just, you’re – I'm sorry – but can I -?”

“Of course you can touch,” Henry tossed his amber streaked hair and shrugged as though it was nothing, but not before casting a cheeky look and another wink at Carina. “After all, it’s not as if you get to touch a god every day.”

Henry gracefully stepped from his wave to the deck of the Pearl, and stood in front of Officer Fields.

Carina shook her head as, within minutes, Henry attracted a small crowd: everyone from Gibbs and Scrum to even Lu and Mr Onslow losing their shyness in the face of his shameless encouragement.

“My… word…” Officer Fields said faintly, as Henry allowed him to touch one of the brassy spikes.

“Careful,” Henry told him, “If you touch _that_ one, you’re forever enslaved to do my bidding.”

Fields froze for a moment.

Henry burst out into peals of laughter.

Fields relaxed as he realised Henry hadn’t been serious, and even smiled a little in return.

“You know, Armando said he had an invisible evil being bending him to its will, and I didn’t believe him,” Carina leant back against the railing, smiling and shaking her head. “But of course I now know it was you. You must’ve given him hell!”

From amongst his circle of admirers, Henry threw her a playful look.

“You don’t _want_ to know what that man thinks, Carina.” He cast a mock-sorrowful look up to the heavens. “It was as much a hell for me to have to share his thoughts as it was for him to hear mine!”

Carina stopped smiling, and flicked a look towards the other end of the Pearl, where she could see Armando was now hunched over the railing, side by side with Jack.

“But I _do_ want to know what he thinks,” she murmured to herself.

She hadn’t quite meant to say it out loud; but Henry had heard her words, and within an instant was ordering his adoring worshippers to leave.

“Carina,” he touched a hand to her side as the crowd reluctantly moved away, “Armando never stopped thinking about you from the moment he saw you. Trust me, I know this. Under everything he did, he was thinking always of you. He is the most ardently ‘in love’ man I have ever met.”

Carina saw Henry was being quite serious.

“Then why won’t he speak to me?” she asked him. “He won't even look at me."

Henry took her hand.

“I may be a god Carina, but… there’s some things you need to ask him yourself.”

Carina shook her head adamantly. “No, absolutely not.”

“You’re just as stubborn as he is,” Henry squeezed her hand a little in exasperation. “That man wants you!”

“But he’s – he’s human, Henry.” Carina disagreed. “What if he’s changed his mind? He could have a life now. He could go back to Spain, he could find – find a Spanish woman, and maybe even find his family –”

Henry’s face was disbelieving. “And you want him to?”

Carina tried to, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say that she did.

“Oh, you two are the worst!” Henry rolled his eyes and dropped her hand. “It’s enough to make me throw myself off the ship.”

“But – he’s –” Carina dropped her voice.

"Stubborn? Possessive?"

“No! I mean, he’s just so… perfect,” she finished hoarsely.

Henry groaned. “I swear, if I could drown myself –”

“But Henry,” she risked a pained glance at Armando, before looking away. “It’s just… he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Why would he want me?”

“ _Ugh_!” Henry cried in disgust. “That’s it! I’m throwing myself overboard!”

 

* * *

 

While Henry had been surrounded by his adoring crowd, Jack had decided it was time.

He knew it was a risk – but not doing it was an even greater risk.

Leaving Elizabeth to triumphantly commandeer the Pearl, Jack approached the Spanish Capitán, where he'd hunched stiffly over the railing, apparently determined to remain alone from the others.

He barely looked at Jack as the pirate joined him.

For several minutes, the two stood together, looking out across the sunlit sea.

Finally, Jack turned to peer at Armando’s face.

 “So – we’re all good now, right?”

 Armando didn’t answer.

“You an’ me?” Jack persisted. “I mean – if you’re gonna come after me some dark an’ stormy night, you better tell me now…”

Armando turned and looked at Jack.

At the kohl-lined eyes, the faded red bandanna, the ridiculous beard framing his perturbed expression.

A face that had been burned into his mind for so long...

But curiously, the intense hatred he'd always felt was all but gone now.

All he saw was a slightly annoying and somewhat odd man, with an idiosyncratic style of dressing, waiting warily at his side.

Armando looked down, before turning back out to sea again.

“As good as we will ever be,” he said finally.

A burst of laughter arrested both their attention, and they turned towards the source.

Armando saw it was Carina, laughing at Niñito as he leapt over the railing, only to be caught by a large wave.

She reached over the edge of the railing towards him, still laughing and talking as he balanced effortlessly on the water.

It was the first time Armando had ever seen her so completely carefree.

She was beautiful.

No, she was _devastating_.

Armando knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop.

The way her adorable dimples creased her cheeks, the shape of her smile – and especially the way her eyes brightened with delight as she leant over to touch the rippling crest of the wave, laughing again at the way the waters churned around her fingers.

Niñito himself was formidable.

Sunlight reflected off of his brassy spikes, catching the drops of water on his sea-flecked chest, so that they glistened like jewels. His amber-streaked hair streamed in the breeze, strikingly handsome against the bright blue of the sea.

Armando turned away.

Jack saw the pained look that crossed Armando’s face, and smiled slyly.

“Not that it’s any of my business –”

“It’s not.” Armando said abruptly.

“But,” Jack grinned. “Maybe you should just tell her – you know – that you –”

“Sparrow.” Armando growled.

“Well, it’s not Henry she fell for, is all I’m saying.” Jack leant against the railing casual-like. “I mean, yeah, she got used to his face – and it _is_ a pretty face – but it’s _you_ she likes.”

Armando glanced sideways at Carina again, just as she brushed her fingers again through the wave, her bright eyes practically dancing as she looked up at Niñito.

“I do not think that is the case.”

Armando closed his eyes in an effort to compose himself, so sharply did his chest twist in that moment.

“Well,” Jack said carefully, “Maybe you’re just not seeing clearly mate.”

“My sight is perfectly clear.” Armando said heavily.

Painfully clear, he thought privately, as he resolutely refused to look towards Carina again.

Instead, he kept his gaze out to sea.

“Yeah, I don’t think so mate.”

Jack started to grin, as he watched Carina make her way towards them.

“I mean, yeah, if I had to choose between a god and a Spaniard, I admit, it’d be a pretty hard choice to make. But that girl – she strikes me as the type who wants a _man_. And Henry, even if he is a god, is still forever gonna be a boy.”

“I don’t–”

“You wanna know what I think?” Sparrow leant in. “I think that girl wants you harder than a fish wants water.”

Armando shook his head, still looking out across the sea. “If I wanted an opinion, Sparrow, you’d be the last person –”

“Captain Jack,” Carina was there.

Armando tensed at her presence.

“Would you mind letting the Capitán and I speak alone?”

“Not at all,” Jack grinned. “In fact, I was just about to say –”

“Shut _up_ , Sparrow!” Armando said abruptly.

Jack lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”

Carina waited for Jack to finish winking at her and swagger away; before turning to study Armando.

Under her gaze, Armando grew even tenser.

“You’re – older than me, aren’t you?”

On the railing, Armando’s knuckles went white.

She cleared her throat. “I meant, _humanly_ older.”

“I am sorry, Señorita.” He said stiffly. “I cannot help my age.”

“Armando.” Her small hand rested over his. “Please, just let me say –”

“It is not – it is not necessary,” Armando suppressed what the feel of her touching his skin wrought in him, and tried to speak coolly. “You have come to say goodbye, but it is not necessary. I – I wish you all happiness, Carina.”

Carina stared. “What?”

Armando spoke as if the words were choking him. “It is very kind of you to come farewell me, but do not waste any more words. I’m glad you are happy, mi – Carina. You deserve to be.”

“Armando.”

Armando removed his hand from under her fingers, still refusing to look at her.

To have her so close to him was tearing at his heart, but he knew the sooner she departed to be back with Niñito, the sooner he could begin to nurse the raw pain –

“ _Armando_.”

There was an edge to her voice.

Armando’s gaze dropped to where her small fingers had once more tightened over his unyielding fist on the railing.

“Armando, will you just bloody look at me!”

Her words caused him to finally, reluctantly, look at her.

Her blue eyes blazed; his breath caught in his throat.

“Por favor, Carina, do not make this harder than it has to be!” he mumbled, feeling for all the world like a small boy and not at all like the hardened Capitán he was used to being.

“You stupid idiot,” she said softly.

And then she raised herself up to press a delicate kiss on his cheek.

“I haven’t come to say goodbye.”

He stared.

“You… you haven’t?”

“Actually,” she shifted her hand up his arm, delicately tracing the seams on his coatsleeve. “I should warn you.”

He blinked, confused.

“The only person you should be wishing happiness on is yourself.” She shifted closer, confidingly, “Because, you see, I am quite confident you are going to need it. I predict that, in the very near future, you will have a stubborn, tenacious and extremely wicked woman making you the prime object of her obsession.”

“… ¿Que?”

“Me, Armando,” she smiled wryly. “I’m talking about me.”

For a long moment, Armando didn’t know what to say.

“Mi Ángel…” he stumbled, “You… you don’t want Niñito?”

Carina looked at him in an expression of perfect incredulity.

“Why would you think I would?”

“Because – because… Carina, I have nothing to offer a lady. I am old, I was old before you were even born, and I have nothing to offer you! I have no home, no… no wealth, no security to offer you –”

“When you are _quite_ finished,” Carina interrupted, “Firstly, let me remind you that I am _not_ a lady.” She looked severely upon him. “I would’ve thought after – after seeing me – end that… Thing, that used to be a Lieutenant, you would’ve put all notions out of your head that I am in _any_ way ladylike!”

Armando suddenly broke into a wide smile. “No, you are not, Carina! You are a fierce warrior Ángel –”

“Please, Armando,” she laid her hands on his chest. “I’m not finished.”

Armando’s eyes heated at her commanding tone, and it took Carina all her self-control to resist fanning that look into flame.

"I love that you are older than me." She told him. "I love how you've never been afraid of me, or threatened by me. And you remind me that there is more – more than just knowing things. You told me that feelings are just as important a consideration as facts."

She smiled earnestly up at him, and Armando was in awe to be on the receiving end of those adorable dimples.

“And, as for giving me security – Henry has generously offered to give us all as much treasure as we need to live comfortably. I’m not _precisely_ sure what he has in mind, but he did mention that before we arrive at St Croix, he had pearls and sunken gold to give us all, and – and, well, I don’t think we’ll need to be worrying about that for quite a long time.”

She suddenly became shy.

“I was –” She blushed, and dropped her gaze again. “I confess, when I saw you human…”

Armando held his breath, afraid that the hammer would fall even now, and crush him.

“I thought you were so…” She took a deep breath. “So unbearably handsome, that there could be no possibility you’d actually wish to – to waste yourself on – on me, and I was sure that now you’re human, you’d wish to – to pursue your old life – and perhaps find someone from your own country –”

Armando raised her chin with a finger. “Mi Ángel… you thought all that?”

Carina swallowed. “Henry said I had it all wrong, that you – you had – some, a little, affection for me – but I just found it so hard to credit what he said –”

Armando kissed her.

He kissed her thoroughly, holding her beautiful face lightly between his warm hands, careful not to crush her, even though there was nothing he wanted more than to bend her, unyielding, against himself.

He revelled in the feel of her lips, the warmth of her as she eagerly put her arms around him, her sweet tongue plunging into his own mouth, for the first time feeling her with his own lips –

“That is – truly revolting.” Came a voice from the side of the ship.

Turning, they saw Henry lounging on a wave, a look of mock-disgust on his face, even while his eyes practically twinkled with deep amusement.

“Niñito,” Armando half-growled, half-laughed, exasperated.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Henry let the wave he rode crest higher, wreaths of amber-coloured light caressing his rune-marked skin.

From further down the deck, Officer Fields and Mr Onslow stood gaping, riveted once more by Henry’s show of power.

Pretending not to notice his adoring fans, Henry waved at Armando and Carina.

“Well, carry on.” He grinned. “Just pretend I’m not here…”

“Stop showing off!” Armando snapped. “Persistente tumbleweed!”

Henry threw a rude gesture at Armando, and put his hands behind his head, letting water from the wave ripple down over his chest as he stretched out comfortably.

“Henry,” Carina rolled her eyes, “We _were_ having a private moment!”

“Never fear,” Henry winked. “I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed!”

“She means,” Armando scowled, “ _You_ need to leave.”

“Does she?” Henry looked puzzled. “Are you sure?”

He looked from Armando to Carina and back again.

“I mean, I seem to recall – a certain kiss – being planted on _my_ lips – not too long ago –”

“If you do not leave,” Armando started to stride towards the railing, “I will find a way to make you leave!”

Laughing in delight, Henry made the wave stretch up so high it caused a shadow to fall across the deck of the Pearl, and the entire ship creaked and tilted a little from the sudden force of it.

“I am not afraid of you, brat!” Armando growled.

In answer, Henry sent a funnel of water directly at him, soaking him through.

Sputtering, Armando stood in his wet uniform in complete disbelief, as Henry now stepped onto the railing, chortling at Armando’s state.

“You two, enough!” Carina scolded.

Armando scowled at Henry. “I should whip you for that–”

“Armando,” Carina turned his face towards her, stroking his wet hair back. “How about we get you something dry to wear…”

She whispered something in his ear that made Armando go completely still.

“Oh, that is absolutely disgusting!” Henry grimaced as Armando bent his head to kiss Carina again. “Oh, stop! I feel sick!”

But this time, his words had no visible effect on the two lovers before him.

“Uh – sir.” Officer Fields tentatively asked.

Henry turned his gaze from the offensive show of passion to regard the British officer.

“I was wondering if – if we might – perhaps – ask you a favour?”

Henry shrugged. “Why not?”

“It’s about St Martin... Mr Onslow and I were wondering if perhaps you would help us…”

As Officer Fields and Henry began to talk, Armando and Carina broke their kiss to whisper once more to one another.

From near the main mast rigging , Scrum watched them, surreptitiously swiping at his eyes.

“That’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw,” he sniffled, as Carina and Armando went, hand in hand, below decks.

“You’re not… _crying_ … are you?” Bollard stared at him.

“No!” Scrum rubbed harshly at his face. “ _No_! Why would I be?”

 

* * *

 

_Back on St Martin…_

 

Mrs Besançon remained kneeling before Mrs Dix as she gave her tale.

Around them, the Oneiroi had filled the Court room, hollow eyes watching, silently listening.

 _And so the boy is now the Ruler of the Seasss.._. Besançon concluded, head bowed.

“And the Trident of Poseidon is no more?” Mrs Dix asked.

Mrs Besançon nodded, keeping her eyes down.

Mrs Dix shifted slightly on her throne, contemplating her Sister.

“And what should your punishment be, Sister, for betraying me?”

Mrs Besançon bowed even lower, until her forehead touched the ground, and did not answer.

“You should never have turned that man.” Mrs Dix continued. “You turned the man who tried to kill me, instead of killing him for daring to do so.”

Mrs Besançon whimpered.

Mrs Dix lifted her gaze around her Court.

Dozens of hollow eyes waited for their new Queen to pronounce sentence.

She stood, and assumed her real face as she made her decision.

 _I will allow you one chance, to right your wrong,_ she said. _But only one. You mussst take a life in place of the one you should have taken. And you will bring that life here before me, that I may obssserve you fulfilling your duty…_

Around them, the Court of Creatures murmured their assent at Mrs Besançon’s sentence.

_Only then, will we allow you back._

Mrs Besançon looked up at that.

_Go, Sissster. And do not return until you have brought with you a life to sssacrifice._

Stumbling to her feet, Mrs Besançon hastily rushed from the Court, well aware she was lucky to leave with her head still on her shoulders.

She was going to have to find someone – but knowing Mrs Dix, it couldn’t be just anyone. That wouldn’t be deemed acceptable enough.

It’d have to be a very particular someone…

 _Yesss_ , she hissed, as the idea came to her. _Yesss…_ _she’sss the one._

 

 

_**THE END** _

_**FOR NOW....** _

 

 

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:
> 
> Henry sings a popular Sailor’s shanty, called Here’s A Health To The Company, though the lyrics are also very similar to the Traditional Irish song The Parting Glass. The earliest copy of the song has a publishing date of 1796, however it is not unfeasible for the song to have been known and sung by sailors for a long time before anyone thought to write it down.
> 
> St Croix: By the time of our story, this formerly French island was entering its most profitable decades. St Croix was an important stop on the Caribbean trade route, and became extremely well known for its rum and sugar production in the late 1700s. By 1754, the (mostly Danish) settlers had petitioned to separate from the Danish West Indies Company – giving them better control over how their life on the island was run. Before then, they had been heavily regulated (almost to the point of the colony's extinction) by the Company.
> 
> I forgot to mention another author who writes the most amazing books on ships and sailing in the 1700s, and has been incredibly inspiring in the writing of this (though there is no way I have the same level of technical knowledge as he does), Julian Stockwin. If you're into reading about ships and what it would've been like to live on one, please read his books.


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